


The Mummy

by Spectra



Category: The Mummy (1999), 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Again Ochako is the Cat, Ancient Egypt, BAMF Midoriya Izuku, Bakugou is O'Connell, Basically The Mummy Au, Copious amounts of manhandling, Dad!All Might, Endeavor's A+ Parenting Transcends Time, I will write the sex, M/M, Magic, Me and my roommate came up with this over vodka, Midoriya is Evie, Mummies, Ochako is the cat, Protective Bakugou Katsuki, Slow Burn, Sorry Not Sorry, While still being adorable, definitely not historically accurate, loyal to the movie while also NOT being loyal to the movie, there will be magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-02-11 06:24:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 98,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12929397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spectra/pseuds/Spectra
Summary: [TEMPORARY HIATUS]Midoriya Izuku's adopted brother, Kirishima, brings him a strange puzzle box that contains the whereabouts to the famed Hamunaptra, otherwise known as the City of the Dead. The city, lost somehwere within the depths of Egypt, is said to have held great power during the golden All Might Era. It is also rumored to be the final resting place of the king's all powerful books; The Book of Life, and the Book of the Dead. Izuku doesn't believe in magic, he believes in history, and that's exactly what he expects to find in these books.To actually get there, Izuku has no choice but to accept the help of the infuriating, and ridiculously short fused soldier, Bakugou, who claims to have been there before. The ensuing ride tests both Izuku's and Bakugou's patience, and the two form the most unlikely of alliances.Little do they know, the power that they are messing with should have remained undisturbed, and there is something more lurking with the tombs of Hamunaptra than treasure...





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so this is the result of a late night between me and my roommate with spiked root beer floats - enjoy. Updates after the initial surge of the first three chapters will likely be weekly, unless otherwise noted.
> 
> First Fic Bonus
> 
> Started a new tumblr on 12/13/18 (it's nothing fancy, is mostly empty, and is currently on a irondad and spiderson kick, but I do my best to reply and will be open to answering questions)
> 
> Find me at: iridescent-spectra

_Thebes, Ancient Egypt_

 

She had to escape. 

Her bare feet scraped against the stone city tile as she ran, her heart thumping painfully in her chest. Her shadow was her only companion, the dark disfiguring it as it clung to her.

She couldn’t suffer her husband a moment longer. Couldn't stand to bear him another child. She was a fool for ever attempting to try and love him, a fool for thinking she could change him. She cursed the day she ever laid eyes on him. Cursed him, his red hair, his blue eyes. She damned every child that would ever share his blood, even if that included her own.

But the pharaoh... He was a kind, benevolent ruler. The royal family would surely protect her, shield her from his evil.

The palace. That was were she had to go.

Her dress was torn, the embroidered silk falling away in tatters as she moved through the city towards the towering palace. Her face still stung from where she’d been struck, the bruising fingerprints beginning to color her arms. But this would be the last time. She just had to reach the gates. Then she would finally be free.

She almost tripped in her rush, the path ahead unlit, her footing mere guesswork. She had waited until it was night, the dark sky immense and speckled with bright, vivid stars. Only them and the moon lit her way now, but even the large shadows did not grant her any relief. She could still feel his presence looming over her, no matter where she went.

She stumbled as she reached the palace stairs, the torches lining the archway straining her eyes as she stepped into the light. It was exposing.

“Halt!” The guards shouted, moving to block her entry. She raced up the steps regardless, undeterred, having gone too far now to let their weapons frighten her.

It was so close, the heavy gates within reach.

She struggled to catch her breath, her voice shaking with panic. “Please! Please, let me in!” She lurched forward, reaching for the handle, her fingers just barely brushing the cool gold before she was stopped.

The guards roughly grabbed her, forcing her to the ground on her knees. Tears, unbidden but no less honest, began falling from her eyes. She grabbed the plates of the one man's armor, casting him a pleading expression. “I _must_ speak to the Pharaoh! He must see me, _please!_ ” She could see in their eyes that they recognized her, but were uncertain of what to do.

No doubt she looked a mess, her hair in a state of disarray, her court clothes torn and battered beyond recognition. Ice began to frost between her fingers as her breathing quickened.

Like a ghost, Enji appeared behind them. Her husband. The source of her terror. He slunk out of the shadows, red hair betraying subtle glints of fire in the swaying torchlight.

Fear siezed her heart, and she screamed, struggling against the guards as he moved closer to the palace. He would not take her, not again. Never again.

She wrestled one of the guards’ blades free and stumbled backwards onto the steps, brandishing her stolen weapon wildly. 

The palace gates shuddered and swung open. Either through luck or fate, The pharaoh was suddenly standing in the archway, his young prince trailing after him. The child had a thumb in his mouth and another hand clutched to his father’s robes. His young green eyes shone with innocence.

His small figure was lost when the pharaoh stepped in front of him, large and intimidating. 

“What is going on?” Toshinori demanded. He looked at the woman before him, concern visibly sparking in his features. His eyes caught on the wounds littering her arms, fresh bruises that would have normally been covered by the sleeves of her dress, now in full display.

No. She shook her head, gritting her teeth. It was too late. He was here. He would use his honeyed words to try and smooth things over, speak above her and silence her cries. But he wouldn't have her again. He couldn't. He would _never_ touch her again.

She smiled, broken and twisted, raising the blade high in the air. The pharaoh’s eyes widened.

“My body-" She hissed, "Is _no longer his temple!_ ” 

Without hesitation, she plunged the blade deep into her heart. Pain slammed into her face, distorting it, before it became slack.

The pharaoh, Toshinori, watched in horror as her body crumpled to the stone steps like that of a discarded doll. Blood flowed freely down the pathway. Stunned to silence, Toshinori moved forward, elbowing past the guards and dropping to his knees beside the body of what had once been a strong and resilient woman.

Anger sparked in his chest. He raised a livid glare to his priest, his expression demanding an explanation. 

“She lost her mind. You should see what she did to the boy.” Enji said cooly. There was a tension in his jaw, anger flickering in his eyes. He had yet to take his eyes off the corpse in the pharaoh’s arms, but he made no move towards her. 

“What did you do?” He asked lowly. Silence answered him. This had been no accident. He knew this woman. She had been vibrant, joyful, and eager to please. Powerful in the magical arts. He had sensed changes in her these past years, but had done nothing.

Oh, how empty she had looked the last time he laid eyes on her! It was mere months ago when he had presented his prince to her and the other members of the upper echelon. Hollowed out, sad, and far too thin for a woman who had just recently given birth.

He should've done something then. He knew of Enji’s obsessions, but had always chosen to give him the benefit of the doubt. He could have saved her.

With incredible care, he laid her down and motioned for the guards to escort his son away. “Let me speak to my priest. Alone.”

The guards nodded and ushered the wide eyed prince back into the palace, who only lightly protested. The boy turned to look back at his father, rubbing one of his eyes in sleepiness. His tiny mouth pinched in the beginnings of an upset. Toshinori managed to fake a small, reassuring smile to his son as they left, which seemed to satisfy the prince enough that he left without further complaint. The pharaoh turned back to his priest.

“We will speak inside.” The words came out in a harsh snap. The pharaoh’s eyes had a sharp, angry spark to them, and the shadows around his face made them glow.

Quiet and stiff, Enji followed him into the palace, leaving a trail of bloody footprints on the cold marble. A mingle of servants had already rushed towards the broken form of his wife, shaky hands palming the bloodless pallor of her face.

He felt nothing.

The doors groaned to partially shut behind them as they entered one of the palace's many private rooms, a large balcony on the side inviting the night breeze. Long, exaggerated silk curtains lined the corners of the archway, teasing the moonlight as they danced with the soft breeze.

Toshinori faced away from Enji, his hands clasped behind him. They were the only two in the room.

The pharoah knew this man, but despite that, something in his gut told him to be cautious. "Throughout the several names you have accumulated these many years, I have thought of you as a friend and ally." He brought his palm forward, reaching for the magic within him. In his hands sparked a small, golden flame. “A trusted advisor in the realm of magic.” He continued, closing his hand and snuffing it out. He turned to face his priest. “But this is something that _cannot_ be overlooked, and I _demand_ the truth.”

Enji fought to keep his face expressionless, even as the fury crept into his chest. “I’ve done nothing wrong.” He clipped, neglecting to regulate his tone. “That woman lost her mind, burned half the face off of my prized son-”

Toshinori grit his teeth at the words he used. Through his outrage he felt a spark of concern for their children. He would have to send people out to retrieve all four from the home, especially if what Enji was saying was true and one of them was injured.

The image of their mother's bruised arms came to the forefront of his mind. No, they couldn't be near their father. They would have to stay in the palace until he got to the truth of the matter. It wouldn’t be an issue. His young prince was a sweet, caring soul and would love the company of other children. He grit his teeth, decided. 

“Until further notice, I am stripping you of your title.” Toshinori said plainly. “I will send for your children, and they will stay here in the palace, beyond your reach, until such a time comes that I know you’re innocent of any wrongdoing.” He paused, his icy eyes glowing wickedly in the dark. “Or, if you are guilty.”Something hot and indescribable in his gut told him it was the latter.

It took a moment for Enji to process what the pharaoh had said, his anger slow to ignite in his shock. His control slipped. Dark red flames blew to life on his arms. He fought to keep them in check, gripping his fists tightly as they flickered with varying intensity.

Without his title, he meant _nothing_. Without his children, his legacy was _nothing_.

Face guarded, Toshinori didn’t appear startled or concerned at the magical outburst.

“You can’t do this to me.” Enji hissed, trembling with fury as the pharaoh turned to leave.

“I will do what's right, Enji.” Toshinori stated as he walked past. “That's all I've ever done.”

Enji turned and watched as Toshinori strode to the entrance of the room, to inform the guards, and surely the council, of his decision. Enji’s flames faintly lit the room and cast long, dark shadows. This fool, this _pharaoh_ , would not take _anything_ from him.

Reaching into his scabbard, Enji silently withdrew his sword, the heat in his chest spiraling out of control.

On the main doors, the shadow of his figure played out his movements, and Toshinori froze, scarcely moving in time to face him before the long, curved blade sunk deeply into his gut.

Slicing hot pain lanced through his body and Toshinori gasped wetly, staring eye to eye with his priest in shock. Enji leaned forward so he could whisper in Toshinori’s ear. “Now, _I_ will be pharaoh.” He hissed, wrenching the blade deeper. “With your magic I will rule _all_ of Egypt.”

A small scream sounded in the corner, and Toshinori managed to turn his head to see his son, the young prince, had been hiding behind one of the pillars. Disbelief fought its way through the pain. He must have managed to sneak past his assigned guard.

Enji would kill him.

Clutching the blade in his gut, Toshinori shoved his priest, his assassin, backwards with a burst of power, the bloody sword clattering to the ground between them.

With a resounding boom, Enji slammed into one of the columns, cracking it upon impact.

The effort sapped the remaining strength from his limbs, and the pharaoh coughed blood, falling to his knees on the marble floors.

His son ran up to him, tears streaming from his eyes as he clutched the arm of his father’s robes. From the other side of the room, Enji was already getting up, the dark flames starting to billow around his whole frame.

“The guards-” Toshinori panted, struggling to dislodge his son’s grip. He couldn’t let his child be caught in the middle of this fight. If his priest managed to kill him, his sole heir would be next. 

His son adamantly shook his head, his body trembling. “Won’t leave you!” He cried, his small hand finding the gaping wound in his father’s abdomen. The blood stained it red, and his emerald green eyes widened as he stared at it, uncomprehending. 

Enji struggled to his feet, wrenching a dagger from his clothes. “I’ll kill you both!” He bellowed, the flames swirling around the weapon. The dagger glowed, runes etching onto the blade as the magic ignited it.

Gripping the stem, Enji hurled it toward Toshinori.

The young prince launched himself into the blade’s path even has his father reached to stop him, his small arm extending towards the weapon.

His green eyes lit with an unearthly light, his arms beginning to crackle even as he screamed-

**_“NOOOOOO!”_ **

In that instant the whole room seemed to explode, light bathing the interior as the prince’s magic reduced the dagger and surrounding walls to dust. Enji was thrown backwards, smashing his head into the balcony railing. Toshinori had to shield his eyes as the light blinded him for several seconds. He didn’t know his son was capable of such a spell. The sounds of stone and marble cracking deafened him, and he could do nothing but wait until the magic was finished.

When the light faded, Toshinori heard a small thud. Unmasking his eyes, he saw his son had collapsed. 

The room was utterly destroyed. Rubble fell from what remained of the ceiling, half of it having been blown off. The moon lit the clouds of dust that billowed from the room interior, the breeze gentle in contrast to the violence that had just occurred, slowly wafting the fumes away from the wreckage.

Columns were leaning and broken, the once grand crown molding chipped and split. The tile beneath them was completely shattered in a circle around them. For a child so young, to create this much destruction…

Every one of his heartbeats released another heavy flow of blood from his wound, but even so he managed to grasp his son’s limp arm and pull him towards him, cradling his body against his. By the Gods, he had very nearly lost him. All due to his own carelessness. His son. His one and only son who had apparently inherited his magic.

Shouts reverberated around them, and the half broken room doors slammed open. Toshinori looked up to see the palace guard as they came in a great wave, encircling them.

The pain made his head pound, and he was growing dizzy. Even so, he managed to look up when he saw one of the leaders of his guard, Shota, approach them.

“What happened?” Shota said calmly, kneeling down to assess the two of them. His black hair was drawn back, though no less disheveled. There were bags under his deepset eyes, concern drawing even darker shadows across his face. “They informed me of the incident that occurred outside.” His keen, roving eyes immediately caught on the wound in the pharaoh’s stomach, and he quickly motioned for the guards to bring a healer.

“Enji.” Toshinori said simply, forcing a smile. “I should have known.”

Shota didn’t agree or disagree, simply moving out of the way as the court healer, Chiyo, rushed to them, skidding to a stop in front of him. Her age didn’t make her any less efficient, her greying hair pulled up and her wrinkled eyes narrowing as she inspected him.

She had been sleeping, as most of the palace was this time of night, but the explosion must have woke her.

“The boy first.” Toshinori said weakly, turning his arms forward to hand him to her.

She shook her head. “It’s you I’m worried about, pharaoh. You’re actively bleeding.”

“The boy.” He coughed.

Chiyo looked conflicted before finally accepting the toddler into her arms. He appeared unharmed, merely exhausted. Which he would be, if he was the one who cast the spell that destroyed part of the palace.

From behind her, she heard angry yells and the sound of someone being dragged. Turning her shoulder, she watched as the guards pulled the unconscious high priest away by his arms. Chiyo shuddered, thinking of the punishment he would suffer for betraying his pharaoh.

She turned to Shota, nodding discreetly. She would do a more thorough check on the child later, but for now she needed to treat the pharaoh’s wounds.

“He’ll be alright, he just needs some rest.” She said gently, tucking a loose strand of hair behind the boy’s ear. If only his father was in the same situation. 

Shota leaned down and plucked him from her grasp, tucking the child against him. “Then that is what he will get.” He said simply. He looked down at the pharaoh, who was shaking from blood loss. “Now you, Yagi.”

The pharaoh chuckled at the casual use of his name. The laugh quickly turned into a cough, and the blood splattered on his white robes.

Chiyo quickly went to his side, pressing a hand to his stomach.

The blade had went completely through him, exiting on his back. It had hit several vital organs. She felt her face blanche. Even with her healing magic, she would never be able to fully fix it. But she could close it up, and that was all she needed to do.

“The damage is too extensive. I won’t be able to completely restore you.” She said softly. A sudden thought hit her, and she struggled to meet the pharaohs gaze as his consciousness dwindled. “What if we use the books?” She said quietly. The books were the epitome of the pharaohs magic, capable of destroying entire nations, or even bringing back the dead. The books would contain the power she needed. 

But the pharaoh shook his head quickly. “The books are forbidden.” He grit out. Even his life was not worth unleashing their power. “Just...do what you can, Chiyo.” He said simply.

Chiyo nodded sadly, reluctantly muttering the proper spell even as the pharaoh’s head tilted to the side, his body growing limp as he finally fell into unconsciousness. The healing process would take several hours, and as her hands glowed with the healing magic she was so practiced in, a part of her heart broke knowing the pharaoh would never be the same after this.

Shota turned his head as one of the palace guards gripped his shoulder, whispering in his ear. They had Enji secured, but were unsure what to do next. Shota let his gaze fall on Toshinori, who was no longer able to give orders given his current state. “Chiyo.” He said, drawing her briefly from her meditation. “How long until the pharaoh wakes?”

She shook her head, the glow from her hands casting deep, worried lines in her face. “I don’t know. It could be days.”

That wasn’t any good. Enji was a powerful magic user and a hazard to the city if he managed to free himself. The decision would have to be made now.

He looked down at the sleeping face in his arms. The prince was far too young to rule in his father’s place, and the pharaoh’s wife was an amazing ruler herself, but was too gentle to decide on something so gruesome as Enji’s punishment. Toshinori wouldn’t like it. Shota looked to the guard.

“Then, in the pharaoh’s absence, I will make the decision concerning Enji’s fate.” He said plainly.

Nobody objected, the entirety of the room intent on one thing: Revenge. Justice.

Shota started listing off orders. Balancing the child in his arms, he waved down a single man, beckoning him forward. “Wake the queen. Tell her what has happened.” He told him. The guard nodded, vanishing through the doorway. The royal wing was on the other side of the palace, and it would take a few minutes for her to arrive.

With incredible care, Shota deposited the child in another guard’s arms. “Stay here with him and the pharaoh.” He instructed. The guard agreed, being very careful to balance the prince’s head. 

Surveying the room, Shota took one final look at his downed pharaoh, his gaze narrowing in anger. The entire nation would seek revenge for their injured king. He snapped his fingers, and the rest of the guard followed him out the door.

“ _We’ll_ take care of Enji.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Battle at Thebes, - "Modern Day" (circa 1940's)_

Thebes sucked. It was hot to be in and dull to look at. Weeks of travel, hundreds of miles trekked to reach this place, and Bakugou was less than impressed. Nothing but crumbling columns and walls littered the scorching hot valley. A ghost of what it might have been.

It was wholly different from the grand and unearthly visage his fellow soldiers had so excitedly painted for him. No, this place wasn’t brimming with treasure. It was laced with something else; something that felt terribly similar to death. And it seemed like it was coming swifter than he would have liked.

“Fuck this sun.” Bakugou spat, yanking his rifle out in front of him. It was strapped around his torso with a single worn leather strap, and it groaned in protest as he adjusted it. The sun was merciless on his exposed face, and his brow was steadily beading with sweat and blurring his vision.

He spared himself a second to wipe his forehead on his arm, growling in frustration. His uniform was beaten and well worn, beige with long sleeves and a high collar. It protected from sunburn, but it did nothing to help with the heat. The rough canvas material scraped roughly against his skin.

“To arms, men! To arms!” His captain shouted. Sunlight gleamed off of his sword as he waved it proudly above his head. His white, skittish horse was kicking up clouds of dirt as its rider spurred him behind the city’s dilapidated wall line.

The captain’s rally was sudden and completely unexpected. There was yelling and running as soldiers hurried to take their positions, some tripping and others scrabbling in the sand to retrieve lost ammo dropped in their haste.

Bakugou paid them no mind, eyes narrowing as he calmly loaded his rifle and pointed it to the horizon. He could see them. There, just over the last dune, a billowing plume of sand announced their presence.

He had to bite back a stream of curses as their figures became more defined. Well over three hundred men at least, all mounted. He felt Mineta shake next to him. 

“You really think… they’re coming to kill us?” Mineta squeaked out.

“Shut the fuck up.” Bakugou hissed. “Are you with me on this or not?”

“O-Of course… Your strength gives me strength.” Mineta assured, locking eyes with him.

Even in the hot sun, Bakugou could see the lie etched on the small man’s face. He was a poor fucking liar. For the past few months he’d watched the bastard clip cards and gamble with loaded dice, cheating more than a few of the more idiotic men in the group out of their already sparse earnings. And there certainly were a lot of idiots in the garrison.

Bakugou huffed, vocalizing his adamant disbelief in Mineta’s statement, and promptly set his eyes back on the horizon, focusing on the oncoming enemies. Steadying his scope, he surveyed the lineup. 

Definitely mounted. Black shrouds covered their faces, and they appeared to be wearing tightly wrapped black clothing, the ends flying out behind them as they rode. Their horse’s saddles were adorned with beads and brightly colored pompoms, and he was surprised by the intricacy. They rode their horses fast and hard, and he could see the white foam that flecked the corners of their horses’ mouths, their eyes white and wild in their stampede.

Now that they were closer, he could see their weapons. Some had guns, but the majority of them were wielding scimitars, waving them over their heads as they sounded battle cries.

He spared a glance back at his own defense, hissing in frustration as he looked at the bumbling group of a hundred men, some still struggling to load their guns. These were people he’d spent the last few months with and he knew their battle capabilities.

It was going to be a fucking massacre. 

His captain must have realized the same thing, his face paling underneath the thick layer of sunburn, his eyes going wide as he dropped his sword in favor of the reins.

In a sharp motion, he whipped his horse the other way and swiftly urged his mount in the opposite direction of the unknown enemy, leaving his men slack jawed in his sudden abandonment.

A furious heat filled Bakugou’s chest. “Fucking coward!” He roared, his body twisting towards the fleeing commander. His body trembled with the urge to go after him and beat the man senseless for his desertion, but there was no time. Panicked shouts drew his attention back to the swiftly advancing enemy, who were no more than a few hundred yards away. 

“B-Bakugou…” Mineta sniveled, lightly grabbing his pant leg, eyes wide and brimming with tears. He managed a small, shaky laugh. “Looks like you just got promoted.”

“Fucking let-” Bakugou viciously kicked his leg free, “Go!” Turning to face the approaching tide of swords, he set the trigger on his rifle and repositioned. “Take aim!” He screamed, setting his scope to track the closest horseman.

Only a single beat passed before they complied. The men barely hesitated to obey, as frightened as they were, and he heard the steadying clicks of guns being aimed, ready to fire. Beside him, he heard a small thud.

Looking over, he turned to see a lone rifle and a small imprint in the sand where Mineta used to be.

“The fuck…” Bakugou tracked Mineta’s retreating figure off in the ruins. 

“Wait- wait for me!” Mineta yelled distantly after the captain, stumbling a little in the deep sand.

For some reason, the blatant chicken run really didn't surprise him. He let out a breath of exasperation.

“Un-fucking-believable.” Bakugou deadpanned. He turned back to his scope. “Steady!” He shouted, eyes narrowing on his own target. One hundred and fifty yards…. One hundred yards….Fifty…

“FIRE!” Bakugou shouted, and his command was immediately drowned out by the deafening sound of gunfire. The first wave of horsemen were struck, sending both rider and horse crashing to the desert floor.

Their initial volley appeared to be successful, but his men were all shouting and acting wildly now, and would no longer take direction.

As the second wave of riders jumped the small rock wall, it became every man for themselves. The air was immediately tinted with the smell of blood.

In quick, expert motions, he reloaded in time to shoot another oncoming rider. He lunged to the side to avoid the horse’s hooves. His teeth grit together in frustration as he again reloaded, shot, reloaded. They were coming from every direction.

He narrowly dodged a lethally swung scimitar, his head jerking sharply to avoid being beheaded. Without breaking eye contact with the rider, he effortlessly shot, finding his mark, before letting his eyes slide over to his next target.

He downed several more men before he ran out of bullets for his rifle. He threw it down, sidestepping through a thundering flurry of panicking horses to make a break for the interior of the ruins, his followers in close pursuit.

He felt the small bite of irony as he glanced down to see the ghost of Mineta’s footprints.

He went for the fallen column surrounded by two walls, only taking a second to scramble over the edge. He rolled to break his fall, falling sharply on his shoulder.

Without missing a beat, he turned and reached into his pistol holsters, firing two handed as another few riders approached from the left side of the city. Were they coming in from all angles?

He ran opposite to them, heading diagonally. He stuck close to the walls, his sore shoulder occasionally grating the crumbling buildings. The pain kept him focused. Bits of dust nicked at his eyes and he blinked rapidly to keep his vision clean.

Not fucking good. The walls and columns provided some semblance of cover, but he had no way of knowing if more of them were waiting for him in the outskirts.

The sound of hoofbeats getting closer sent another thrill of energy through him. His heart ran into overdrive,but he fought to keep himself calm. If he started pumping excess adrenaline, he would be in trouble.

The horses were nearly on him now, and he heard the harsh cuts of a language he didn't recognize. Cutting a corner sharply, he slammed his back on the wall and fired two rounds as a pair of horses flew past. The hooded men went boneless in their saddles, but their mounts continued their reckless gallop.

Switching open the chamber of his pistol, Bakugou counted three bullets. The second one only two.

Five shots left.

He could hear cries behind him from the rest of the group, no doubt seeing the pair of horses run out of the city with their riders dead. Pushing off his cover, he kept forward. If he stayed still they would find him. Arms pumping, Bakugou couldn’t hold back the loud curse that ripped out of his mouth when a few riders came at his right side.

Pulling up his pistol, he shot three times in succession, the horses almost plowing him over as their owners fell limp from their seats. 

Two shots left.

His chances of survival were rapidly dropping. Bakugou flew around another column and saw what appeared to be a tall, stacked building with a narrow doorway. His gaze zeroed in on it, and his legs burned as he ran even faster towards the small opening.

The door was a dark, black stone; completely different from the rest of the building. It was inscribed with a variety of hieroglyphs, scattered in an assortment of rows that spanned the whole length of the door. The deeply etched lines portrayed a scene of pictures he wouldn’t even begin to know how to translate, but the door looked thick and heavy enough to keep the mounted warriors at bay and that’s all he fucking cared about.

Just less than fifty yards from the entrance, a familiar scream drew his attention. He turned to see Mineta was in the same predicament as he was. Two horsemen were in close pursuit.

The one rider had a rifle, and was taking aim with his unoccupied arm, the gun steady despite his furious riding. 

Immediately, part of him wanted to ditch Mineta. He was a sleazy fucking asshole. But at the same time, he felt the annoying prickle of honor; and leaving a soldier behind to get shot or beheaded didn’t sit well in his stomach. 

“Fucking hell.” Bakugou snarled, twisting his body around. He whipped his pistol in front of him and fired quickly, his second shot missing the rider but hitting the horse dead center. The horse let out a shrill, distorted bugle as its front legs fell out from underneath it, slamming its rider into the sand. “Mineta!” Bakugou yelled, “Hey where the fuck are you-” 

Mineta slammed into his shoulder as he ran past him, knocking him off center. Bakugou stumbled, throwing his arms up in agitation after Mineta’s retreating figure. He was headed for the black carved door for cover, not even bothering to wait for him.

“You fucking asshole - I just saved your fucking life, you ungrateful-” Bakugou cut himself off when he saw twenty hooded figures ride around the bend. “ _Shit-_ Hey, what-” Bakugou started running towards the building, Mineta already having reached it. His face was still pale, but he had a small, manic grin in his face.

“Hold that door.” Bakugou growled, as the realization hit him. 

Mineta started pushing it closed, the stone howling in protest.

“Hold that **_fucking door!_** ” Bakugou roared, pumping his arms faster.“You fucking shit, if you close that fucking- God fucking _dammit!_ ” Bakugou slammed his body into the black stone seconds after Mineta shoved it shut, the opening effectively sealed. Bakugou screamed in protest, slamming his fist against the carvings in pure fury.

The next time he saw that sniveling fucker he was _dead_. 

Shots ricocheted on the stone around him. He had no time to play tug-o-war with the fucking door and Mineta. Partially ducking, he sped around the building only to find himself trapped. His eyes danced desperately around him but he found only tall, disintegrating walls of sand, clay, and stone. They were too steep to climb, and probably far too slippery.

The small, crumbling cliffs partially encircled him, and a dark, looming statue of a man with a jackal’s head cast its shadow on him.

Bakugou felt a sharp chill spark in his spine despite the heat as the figure regarded him from its pitch black throne.

The thunder of hooves grew louder behind him as he turned, yanking a dagger from his waist holder. He would die armed. He ripped his gaze away from the statue to face the oncoming horsemen who were nearly upon him, steeling his resolve.

The entire group came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the statue.

Their faces blanched as their horses reared in shock, eyes white in panic. Foam spat from their mouths as the riders yanked the reins sharply backwards, whipping their heads around. They all shouted in a haze of mixed phrases and petrified cries.

They seemed to be terrified of something, wrenching their horses in the opposite direction, not even pausing for the mere second it would take to shoot him down. Bakugou could only watch in shock as their horses bolted, and in less than ten seconds they were disappearing behind the crumbling, aged walls of the ruins. 

A few seconds passed as Bakugou’s heart pounded thickly in his chest. His heavy, ragged breathing momentarily stealing his voice. 

“The… the fuck?” Bakugou managed, lowering his dagger. They just… left? He slowly put his dagger back in its holster, his thoughts racing. Did they think he had something else on him? A bomb? 

The cold, icy chill in his spine intensified, and he spun around to face the statue again, his eyes widening as he took in the sight before him.

The eyes on the jackal were glowing a vivid red, and the figure took on a lifelike element that set off all his warning bells. He would swear he could see the faint lines of wisping smoke emanating from the creature’s mouth, its eyes hissing like hot embers.

He took a few steps backwards, the air around him becoming unstable and unreal, his mind wildly certain the statue would at any second gain the power to stand up and chase him itself. 

Whispers sounded in his ears, and Bakugou jerked his head from side to side to try to pinpoint the noise. The ground began to rumble underneath him, and he cursed as he rapidly stepped backwards. Sand began flying out from the ground in small geysers, some of them just barely missing him. 

“Fuck!” Bakugou grit, running from the statue. He didn’t believe in this kind of shit. The curse upon the city, the magic that the soldiers and passing travelers said it had held. They were all myths meant to entertain the weak of mind or the bumbling drunks around the campfire late at night. But here, now, Bakugou was struck with the feeling of sudden uncertainty.

The whispers behind him became louder as the sand started to spit and shake with more ferocity. An unearthly bellow shook stone and dust from the ruins as the wind began to whip and howl - snapping and grasping at his hair and clothes as he ran out of the city, now eerily empty save for the few dead souls who regarded him with blank, vacant expressions. 

\---------------------------------------------------

Watching from atop a cliff, Shouto kept a close eye on the skirmish below. The garrison had been successfully wiped out, and they had lost only about thirty of their men in the process.

He watched somberly as the rest of his men galloped out of the city to regroup, no doubt fearful of the lurking power of Hamunaptra. The amount of men they lost was a small price to pay to keep that power and the city a secret.

He readjusted the reins in his hands as his horse shuddered and pranced in frustration from standing still. Speaking softly, Shouto placed his hand soothingly on its neck and the horse calmed.

“There is one still alive!” A man exclaimed.

Surprised, Shouto looked up from his horse and saw that sure enough, a single remnant of the paltry garrison was escaping from the city. His hair was blonde and wild, and he had a fierce expression on his face. Shouto had watched this one during the battle, and he had grudgingly assented he was a force to be reckoned with, having fought hard and without fear.

If he didn't know any better, he would swear the man looked like...

No. He swept the thought away in his head. It was an impossibility. This lone soldier was a wandering soul, trespassing like any other. He would meet the same fate as those before him.

The horseman beside him who had initially noticed the escaping blonde was stirring up his horse in preparation to follow. He was stopped only when Shouto grabbed his reins.

“No… don’t bother.” He dismissed. He had watched this man, even if the others hadn’t, and he would risk no more of his people. “The desert will kill him.” He assured, watching the escaped fighter. The desert was unforgiving, and preyed openly on those who ventured within it.

As though he could sense he was being watched, the man turned and locked eyes with Shouto. 

They were fierce, angry eyes. Shouto could feel their heat even from here. The man scowled and made a sharp, neck cutting motion before breaking his gaze and disappearing into the desert.

“I am not so sure.” His one soldier said uneasily.

Shouto couldn’t stop the small, amused smile that crept onto his face.


	2. The Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aizawa's lib-er-arry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> salad is nice

It was quiet; the nice kind of quiet. It was the way all libraries should sound: silent. It made it easier for him to work, and considering the mess he had to clean up, it was much appreciated.

“And here we have “ _Sacred Stones_ ”... “ _Sculpture and Aesthetics_ ”...” Izuku murmured, balancing himself on the library ladder. 

Leaned up against the bookshelf, he meticulously replaced the books that a few passing scholars had requested earlier. After reading from a few select pages, they had thoughtlessly left them on the table in a nonsensical order; the poor bindings stressed from being left open to a few select pages, stacked mercilessly and with no thought given to their upkeep. 

Trailing his fingers along the tattered spine, Izuku let his mind wander and his eyes trace the faint gold leaf markings on the title before turning it to inspect the pages once more.

Old, paper thin, and irreparably crumpled from use. But it didn't make the knowledge inside any less worthwhile, and Izuku let himself scan a few of the familiar lines for the sake of nostalgia before continuing.

_'During this era, it is noted that the royal sculptures seem to lack the lines of hardship worn by their predecessors; their expressions unclouded and certain as they gaze into eternity. The manner of tools used to chip away at the stone, however were-'_

He paused as he came across a few dog eared pages, which drew a low stream of tutting as he gently folded them back into place. Giving it a few soft pats, he placed it delicately back in its correct position, and promptly did the same with its sister.

In Professor Aizawa’s museum, he was allowed to read as many books as he liked, so long as he kept them in perfect condition and replaced them in perfect order.

For him this was an absolute given and a very small price to pay for access to some of the rarer books in the museum’s keeping. Reading was his life, and books were unbearably precious to him.

“Socrates, Seth….” Izuku muttered, placing them in line. He ran his fingers against the cool wood of the ladder as he sorted them through in his head before he placed them in their designated spot.

He had read almost all of these. “What a nonsensical arrangement.” He chastised, chuckling softly. “Volumes one and two….” His eyes followed the line of books before he found what he was looking for. “Ah!” He smiled, tucking them away.

He looked back down at the remaining book in his arms.

“Tuthmosis?” He exclaimed, regarding the book in mock horror, “And just what are _you_ doing here?” He looked over his shoulder, spotting the golden placard that marked the ‘T’ section. It was on the other side of the aisle, but he could reach. He smiled, biting his tongue slightly as he reached over the aisle to fit it into place. 

The ladder protested loudly, whining at the unnatural change in weight. Izuku snapped back to clutch the lifeline, letting out a breath of frustration.

Humming softly, he reached again, tipping his body just a tad further.

Right as the tip of the book touched the edge of the shelf, Izuku felt the ladder suddenly shift drastically, nearly sending him tumbling down the bookshelf.

Izuku yelped as he struggled to correct himself, pushing the ladder forward with his arms to lean it back into place; but the ladder weighed a ton and his move was wholly uncoordinated.

Panicked, he was forced to resort to making desperate jerking motions to keep himself from falling twenty feet down onto Professor Aizawa’s very nice, _very hard_ , solid wood floors.

The ladder tipped and tilted, and they went back and forth in a small dance until Izuku found himself standing in the middle of the isle, perfectly balanced on the now straight ladder, his and its weight supported only by the two stilts.

“Ha...Oh gods….help.” Izuku breathed desperately as he felt the ladder slowly fall off balance. In one last desperate move, he wrenched the ladder towards the original bookshelf, his eyes squeezing shut as he slammed into it.

Upon impact, the shelf screamed and groaned as the entirety of it swayed over, banging into the next shelf...which hit the next one...and the next one…

Izuku scrambled from the top of the shelf in a panic, one arm reaching out towards them as though he could will them to stop.

It was like a terrifying game of dominoes. Each blow sounded off another slap of thunder as books and papers and articles wildly littered the air.

As the last case fell, completing the circle of fallen units, Izuku was too shocked to stop himself as he turned to face Professor Aizawa as he entered the room, letting a small “Oops.” brush past his lips as an explanation.

Aizawa let his gaze follow the entirety of the fallen bookshelves before turning to rest on Izuku. “Oops…?” He parroted, kneeling down to pick up a small stack of papers.

“It...It was an accident.” Izuku managed, surveying the utter destruction around him.

There were books scattered in every manner of being - pages crushed and folded, bindings snapped the other direction, pages ripped out and littering the floor. His heart dropped like a brick when he thought of all the books that would need to be rebound due to potential damage.

Gods, it would likely take weeks just to reassemble the loose articles and unattached booknotes with their correct owners. He felt his face pale.

“This…” Aizawa spoke slowly, “Is a catastrophe.” He let the papers in his hand fall back to the floor, and Izuku watched as they mixed with the rest of the jumbled pages. “I should fire you. Don’t know why I haven’t.”

“I…” Izuku felt a pang of undescribable emotion hit his heart. “F-fire me…? Now wait…” He couldn’t stop the flow of words coming out of his mouth. “I-I’m useful! I can read and write ancient egyptian, I can decipher hieroglyphics and hieratic, and…” 

Aizawa waved his hand in dismissal, silencing him. “I put up with you because your father Toshinori was one of this world’s finest archaeologists, that’s why. Both him and his wife."

Izuku opened his mouth to protest but was silenced again as Aizawa glared at him with his dark, tired eyes. They had an angry glint in them. “I don’t care how long it takes…” He started, measuring a pointed finger at him, “And I don’t care how you do it,” He motioned to the whole of the library, “But _clean. This. Up._ ”

Izuku nodded his head quickly even as Aizawa turned and stepped out of the room. He let out a long sigh as he looked a little hopelessly around him. Scanning the room, he unbuttoned the cufflinks of his white, long sleeve shirt, and rolled them up just above his elbows. He was wearing a beige vest as well, which he may have to remove later if he got too hot… but for now he simply straightened it, and his mouth pinched in a solid, determined line.

He bent down and reached for the closest stack of papers.

 

\--- _~_

Straightening his back, Izuku let out a long, exhausted groan as he stretched his arms over his head. He looked down at his progress, and had to bite back a small whimper.

The sun had started to set over Cairo, and he was rapidly losing the light. He'd been organizing for several hours at this point, and had little to show for it. He hadn’t been able to right the bookshelves (they were much too heavy), but he had started to try and make sense of the scattered cloud of papers on the floor. 

So far he had only successfully restored eleven articles, which wasn’t so bad except he had at least a thousand more to go. Hopefully the majority of them were only missing a few pages or had fallen in the general vicinity of their respective bookshelves, but he couldn’t exactly put them away without the shelves righted... He had tried to rearrange about a hundred of the heavy volumes, and they were stretched out on the tables in a bare semblance of their original order.

“One thing at a time…” He chanted under his breath, “One thing at a time…”

Bending down to continue, he startled when he heard whispers coming from what sounded like the arrival room. It was attached to the library, but inaccessible to the general public.

Tilting his head, Izuku regarded the door. Only he and Professor Aizawa were supposed to be in the museum at the moment as it was closed for the day.

Izuku spared a quick glance down the hallway where Professor Aizawa had departed over an hour ago before he began cautiously making his way towards the doorway, setting the papers gently down on a table as he passed.

He _did_ need a small break, if anything.

“Hello?” He tried calling out. His voice was soft and unsure, and his uncertainty grew as he grasped the wide arching door handle. The door creaked as he opened it slowly, peering inside.

The room was massive, towering columns looming in all four corners of it. The door archway was surrounded in hand carved stone moldings, which amassed and decorated the entirety of the room. Viewing lights had been pointed in various areas around the space, the cone lights shining up the walls to create large shadows, which added drama.

The area was used to hold a variety of artifacts that hadn’t been either approved or given space on the main floor yet. Intricate chairs painted and carved in the egyptian style, various tablets with hieroglyphs carved into them, and even some larger displays; one featured a life size statue of an important political figure in the All Might era. It portrayed a lone, red haired man man atop his horse cart, whip in hand as he urged his horses faster. He had a fearsome, cruel, expression on his face. The lighting in the room cast deep lines under the fake man's eyes, and the figure’s dark, lifeless gaze sent a shudder down Izuku’s spine. 

“This isn’t funny…” Izuku called out again, tearing his focus away from the display.

Nobody answered.

Gritting his teeth, he slowly made his way through the room, peering behind artifacts and glancing across glass cases. His hands trailed on some of the relics as he passed, the stone tablets cool and gritty to the touch. His fingers traced golden wings and symmetrical figures in various poses. 

Despite himself, his mind drifted away from the noise he heard earlier as he got lost in the history. His steps echoed as he walked, and he felt unnaturally loud in the large room, the brief clips of his shoes announcing his presence to the souls that still slept in their coffins.

Goosebumps peppered across his skin, the unease mingling with the buzz of his idle curiosity as he worried at his lip, pausing to study a newer arrival of papyri to try and take his mind off of his silly paranoia.

He had only been looking for a moment when a soft shuffle ripped Izuku’s gaze from the display case.

His head whipped in the sound’s general direction.

“Professor Aizawa? Are you in here?” He tried again, louder. The noise had come from around one of the larger sarcophagi. His stomach doing a small flip, Izuku tried to quiet his steps as he slowly walked over.

Izuku took a deep gulp as his hand slowly grasped the side of the sarcophagus, the cool chill spreading through his fingers to his chest. He peered over.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!” The mummy residing in the sarcophagus shrieked and sat up, reaching for him-

Izuku _screamed_ , stumbling backwards, his back crashing up against one of the large stone tablets. His knees buckled and he nearly fell to the ground as his shriek reverberated through the huge room, nearly deafening in its intensity.

His fear melted away when he heard laughing.

Kirishima’s head popped over the side of the sarcophagus, his body convulsing in the throes of laughter. Izuku felt his face fall as Kirishima continued to snicker as he got his now shaking legs underneath him.

He strode forward with every intention of chewing him out.

“Have you no respect for the dead?!” Izuku demanded, watching Kirishima nonchalantly put the decaying mummy back in its former resting position.

“Of course I do!” Kirishima chuckled, folding his arms over the side, “But sometimes I’d rather like to join them.” He winked, his smile turning mischievous. 

“Do it before you get me into even _more_ trouble with Professor Aizawa!” Izuku snapped. He looked past Kirishima to the mangled remains of the mummy. “Oh, gods…” He groaned, “If he knew you were playing with the artifacts, much less the _mummies_ -”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Kirishima assured confidently. “Besides, I thought you were leaving soon anyway. What’s wrong with having a little fun?” He rested his chin on his hand, staring at Izuku thoughtfully. “Did you get your letter back from the academy yet?”

Izuku gave him a withering look at the less than subtle topic change, but he let it slide. “We’re not done discussing this.” He promised, before breaking eye contact and wringing his wrist. He sighed loudly. “They rejected my application at the Yuuei Academy again.” Izuku said quietly, shaking his head. His fists tightened as he recalled reading the letter. “They said I didn’t have enough experience in the field; but I probably know more about Egypt than _half_ of the applicants who go there-”

The stream of words let loose even as Kirishima tried awkwardly patting him on the shoulder in reassurance. “Hey, hey, listen.” Kirishima cut him off, giving a fond smile before continuing, “I think I’ve found something that will cheer you up.” He patted down his shirt pockets, fumbling a little to find the right one.

“Oh, Kirishima, you know I always appreciate when you bring stuff back for me to look at but...eh...” Izuku cringed a little as he thought of the line of ‘priceless treasures’ Kirishima seemed to always bring him. They were all either fake gimmicks, or legitimately worthless. It was the equivalent of a cat bringing dead mice to its owner.

But… Izuku’s cat never brought him dead animals. His expression soured as he considered it. What did that make Kirishima?

“Found it!” Kirishima exclaimed, procuring the item in question. It looked like old, tinged gold in the shape of an octagon. A line of hieroglyphs striped the center, and two sitting figures graced either side, like two opposing halves.

There was also writing on the sides, but Kirishima snapped it back playfully when Izuku leaned forward, curious.

He tossed it back and forth in his hands. “And I’m ten times better than any cat; including your precious Ochako.” Kirishima chastised, smiling crookedly.

Izuku snorted as he snatched the box from Kirishima’s fingers, dancing backwards to keep it from being reclaimed. He felt a small prickle of heat in his cheeks at having been caught muttering again. “Don’t let her hear you say that.” He murmured, slowly turning the box in his hand. 

He ran his fingers along the old, metallic material. Could it be gold? It had to be, considering. That alone would make it valuable, but it was the hieroglyphs that intrigued him. His thumb wiped away imaginary dirt on the markings as he slowly read them. His eyes widened slightly at their implication.

Intrigue growing, Izuku let his fingers trail the lines, the surface smooth save for the slight indents of the engravings. It was an interesting piece, but what could it have been part of? It spoke of a key to a separate object of significant importance, but the shape suggested it was holding something of great value as well… 

His fingers caught on a small bump, and he frowned slightly as he turned it over. A piece of a hieroglyph that was jutting outwards. The imperfection was purposeful, but he couldn’t understand why. He worried at it, his heart catching as it popped inwards.

A brief second of uncertainty flashed through him as he panicked, thinking he had damaged the artifact, before the top unlatched and flipped open in a loud snap.

Izuku very nearly dropped it in surprise. The metal pieces were triangular in shape, and with the box open, the surrounding edges gave the illusion of looking like the sun.

Kirishima leaned over, eyes trained on the object. “Please, Izuku, tell me I’ve found something.”

“Kirishima…” Izuku breathed, peering into the center of the box. He slowly reached in and delicately extracted a folded piece of ancient papyrii. His green eyes met Kirishima’s, sparkling with excitement. “I think you’ve found something.”

 

\-------- _Professor Aizawa’s office_

 

It was early evening now, the light a soft orange as it filtered through the windows of Professor Aizawa's office. The room itself was decent in size, fitting a wall length bookshelf on the one side, and a large, worn mahogany desk facing away from the high windows.

Historical pieces and artifacts were scattered all over the room on various open surfaces. Some were for show, while others were still being catalogued; easily distinguished for the brown tickets that had their item number on them.

It was crowded, but not messy, and Izuku loved every opportunity to go in and look around the professor’s work space.

“And if you look closely there,” Izuku said, highly animated, “You’ll see the cartouche there; yes, it’s the official royal seal of All Might, I’m absolutely positive.” He was pacing the office floor, one hand on his chin, the other waving in the air. 

Aizawa sat disinterested in his old, plush leather chair. He regarded the box in his hands with a guarded, dispassionate expression. He placed it down quietly on his desk, looking back up again to see that Izuku’s pacing wasn’t slowing down. Restraining a sigh, he tapped his finger in a slow, leisurely rhythm.

Kirishima was straddling a chair off in the corner, watching Izuku with a huge grin on his face. “Hold up,” he said, patting the top of the chair in excitement, “Who is this All Might person,” he looked at Aizawa, and lifted a mischievous eyebrow, “And was he rich?”

Aizawa’s answering stoic expression just seemed to impress him even further, and Kirishima directed a huge smile at him in response even as Izuku babbled out the answer.

“He was the second pharaoh of the 19th dynasty.” Izuku quickly piped in, ignoring the other two’s exchange. He chuckled at Kirishima’s eagerness, and matched his smile. “Said to be the wealthiest and most powerful pharaoh of all.” 

Kirishima nodded in approval as Izuku turned heel and strode over to the front of Aizawa’s desk, leaning over and extracting the box from its resting position. He fumbled it in his hands as he found the jutting hieroglyph and pressed it, snapping the locks open to reveal the contents. He pulled out the papyrii even as Aizawa’s expression remained neutral, and carefully unfolded it. He handed it to Aizawa, pointing at the painted markings. 

“I’ve already dated this. It’s a map, almost 3,000 years old.” Izuku tapped the upper corner. “And if you look here… well, this hieratic… It’s Hamunaptra.” His eyes went up to meet Aizawa’s, who was regarding him with a very unusual expression.

“Izuku,” The professor started tiredly, his tone gentle but firm, “We’re scholars, not treasure hunters. Hamunaptra’s a myth.” He raised a hand even as Izuku began to splutter out an objection, silencing him. “Listen to me. Your father wouldn’t want you to-”

Izuku inhaled sharply, standing up straight. “My father isn’t here.” He clipped, smile fading. “I’ve heard all about the blather regarding the city and the curse that supposedly protects it. If my father weren’t forced to retire, he would have wanted to investigate this.” Izuku shook his head adamantly as Aizawa looked to dispute him. “My research has led me to believe that this city actually existed-”

“Are we talking about _the_ Hamunaptra?” Kirishima butted in, twirling in his seat.

Izuku turned to look at him, wringing his wrist. “...Yes. The City of the Dead.” He bit at his lip as he looked thoughtful, distantly tracing the lines of books on the small shelves surrounding the room. His fingers caught his chin as he muttered further, the words lost under Kirishima’s excited rambling.

“Yes! Where the early pharaohs were said to have hidden the wealth and great magic of Egypt.” Kirishima laughed, speaking outwards. He motioned vividly with his hands, “In a huge underground treasure chamber!”

Aizawa couldn't withhold his second sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose even as Izuku scoffed, his pacing having restarted.

“Oh, come on you two, you both know the story,” Kirishima whined, leaning forward lazily in his chair, “The entire necropolis was rigged to sink into the sand on All Might’s command. The city would sink beneath the sand dunes, taking the treasure with it.” He laughed, wagging his finger at them. “Now, I don’t know about you two, but I’ve got a couple of shovels in the back at home...”

Izuku turned, disbelieving, “It’s going to take a lot more than _shovels_ to dig up the city if the whole thing is undergrou-” 

“Hey! Careful with- _WHOA!_ ” Kirishima screeched, knocking his chair over.

Spinning around, Izuku turned to see the map was still in Aizawa’s hands, but it was dangling precariously close to one of his large desk candles.

In just a split second, the whole sheet was set ablaze.

Izuku let out a small cry as he scrambled over, nearly tripping over his two feet as he yanked the map out of Aizawa’s loose grip in desperation, flapping the burning papyri wildly in the air to try and stop the rapid ascent of the flames.

“Oops.” Aizawa said calmly.

The fire licked at Izuku’s hands and he yelped as he was forced to drop it, clutching his singed fingers.

Lurching forward, Kirishima quickly started to aggressively stamp out the flames when the map hit the floor, and a few reeling moments later the fire was successfully put out. 

There was a few seconds of absolute silence as all three of them regarded the tattered, badly burned piece of papyrii on the ground between them.

It was now sporting several shoeprints. 

Izuku knelt down, holding his seared fingers against his chest. With his good hand he picked up the map by a single corner, the scorched section crumbling to ash as it lifted. “You’ve burnt it…” He stated numbly, “You’ve burned off the part with the lost city.”

“It’s for the best, I’m sure.” Aizawa said simply, rolling backwards in his chair and standing. He walked around the desk and bent down slightly to inspect the charred map Izuku held lightly in his grip. “Many men have lost their lives in the pursuit of Hamunaptra.” He regarded the map for a few thoughtful seconds before he tapped on Izuku’s forehead, drawing his eyes to him.

They were wide and shiny, the emerald green reflective in the afternoon light. Aizawa let out a huff of air and patted Izuku on the head. “Most have never returned from this fool's pursuit. Now lets drop the subject.” 

Reeling, Izuku was incapable of forming a coherent sentence as he dazedly watched Aizawa straighten and walk back over to his desk, collecting papers and throwing them into a folder like he hadn't just destroyed something of incredible value.

Kirishima was likewise stunned, shifting his attention back and forth between Aizawa, Izuku, and the crisp remainders of the map, like he was unsure which of the three required his attention the most.

“I’m leaving for the day.” Aizawa said simply, plucking his jacket from the nearby coat hanger. He tossed it over his shoulder, the folder tucked under his other arm.

Izuku was still on the floor, and Aizawa’s statement was slow to process as he suddenly regained his senses.

“Hey… W-wait! Professor Aizawa!” He called out, his arm reaching for the retreating figure. He hissed when his burnt fingers hit the air.

Aizawa merely waved, already closing the door behind him. “Get those burns taken care of.” He said simply. He hesitated in the doorway for a moment. “And finish cleaning the library.” he snapped as an afternote. With that, the door clicked shut and his footsteps slowly faded off.

Izuku turned to the ruined article in front of him. It was unusable now, destroyed. They would never be able to find the lost city now, this could have truly been the only link to Hamunaptra. 

With a guilty, tepid air, Kirishima walked over and bent down next to Izuku, prying the map from his hand. He held it up in the air with an exaggerated hum, eyes drifting over the black pieces of ash powdered across the floor. “Yup, that’s well and truly destroyed.” He asserted blandly.

Izuku bit back a small cry. “I-I really don’t need to hear that.”

Kirishima gave him a good natured pound on the back. “Don’t worry, I think I know what to do.” 

Izuku looked up skeptically. “What can we possibly do? It’s been burned off, there’s no way-”

“Shhhhhh,” Kirishima hushed, shaking his head. “Not precisely. I think I know someone who can help.”

“...Who?”


	3. Cairo Prison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sweaty men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> schoolwork is a myth

“I-I don't know how I feel about this…” Izuku stuttered, struggling to stay behind Kirishima as they plowed through a mass of people. They were making their way through the busy Cairo city crowd, the streets lined with merchants and shoppers all haggling for an assortment of wares. Kirishima on more than one occasion had to stop and politely pull Izuku away from the more enthusiastic sellers, their arms strung with bright, jeweled necklaces and watches.

For all of his brother's efforts, Izuku was too nice for his own good; flushing and holding up his hands in surrender as the salespeople pulled him every which way in an attempt to get him to buy something. There was no such thing as a 'quick' walk in the marketplace with him.

The circuit was always changing, but the majority of shops had a theme. Brightly colored, hand woven rugs and clothes lined the doorways and shop entrances, providing sparse patches of shade. Pottery in every shape and size littered the ground, which was a severe tripping hazard for Izuku, who took extra care not to cause an accident. He laughed as Kirishima nearly tripped over a wandering hen, as loose chickens were bumbling across the pathway, pecking through the wisps of hay that lined the ground with little care to their surroundings. For the sake of time Kirishima ended up tucking his brother underneath his arm and barreling through the crowd, giving him no chance to stop. In just a few minutes, they were through the worst of the market, and Kirishima let Izuku go in an exaggerated gasp.

“I hate…” He gasped, breathing heavily on his knees, “Going through there with you.”

Izuku blushed, hovering by Kirishima’s heaving figure. He knew he was really bad in the marketplace. There were lots of stuff to see, and everyone there was really insistent. He had brought along a thick journal that contained all his notes and theories about the famous egyptian All Might Era, in hopes that the appearance of him holding something would deter people, but it hadn’t helped much. That and he personally loved to slowly comb through the antiques. On more than one occasion he found something worthwhile to bring back to the museum.

“Ah...Sorry.” Izuku said softly. He meekly scratched his cheek in embarrassment. “Sometimes it can be a little difficult to pull away.”

Kirishima straightened, stretching his back. He glanced over at him. “I suppose there’s nothing wrong with being nice, but you should assert yourself more with strangers.” He patted him on the back with a small chuckle, and grandly motioned in front of them. “In any case, we’ve reached our destination!”

In front of them was the large archway that led to the Cairo prison. The people around them were avoiding it like the plague, giving the prison a wide berth as they walked past. It had two large, heavy wooden gates for the entrance. Thick iron bars wrapped around the sides to bolt them into the walls. The prison’s outer defensive wall looked like it was slowly crumbling, sporting several ‘U’ shaped dips on the top. Two very cruel, mousy looking individuals stood guard on either side of the doorway, looking disinterested. They were both armed, heavy rifles slung across their shoulders. The one on the right had a half smoked cigarette hanging out of his mouth and a nasty looking scar on his cheek.

Izuku felt his mouth fall open.

This wasn’t at all what he had in mind when Kirishima said he knew someone who could help. Instead he had rather imagined they would be visiting another professor or a site specialist. There were plenty of archaeologists lurking in the city of Cairo. Just... not _this_ particular part of it. Izuku himself had never wandered this far from the market, as the locals always spoke ill of the place. What had his brother gotten into? He made tepid eye contact with one of the guards. They had taken note of their presence, and he saw their eyes narrow at their approach.

Izuku blanched. “I thought… you said…” He stuttered, watching Kirishima boldly walk in front of him. He appeared utterly confident, not in the least intimidated by the guns. Izuku stuttered after him, frozen in place. Were they supposed to be here? Was he just horribly lost? He had to know this was the Cairo prison. It was nicknamed ‘Hell on Earth’, and it held the lowest of the low scum, and the most dangerous of criminals. He had met some of Kirishima’s friends before, and wasn’t so naive that he wouldn’t believe some of them could earn a spot in one of the cells, but generally his brother didn’t mix with his less tasteful friends around him.

Kirishima waved and winked at the guards as he approached, a huge, beaming smile on his face. The guards weren’t very impressed, and the one smoking gripped his rifle a little tighter, rolling the cigarette in his mouth. Concern for his brother's safety sprung him to action. Izuku lurched forward and grabbed him by the arm, stopping him. 

“I thought you said you got the box from a dig down in Thebes.” He hissed in his ear, glancing warily at the guards.

Kirishima shrugged. “I may have stretched the facts a little bit.” He started forward again before Izuku stopped him once more.

“You lied.” Izuku breathed, mouth open in shock.

Kirishima chuckled, drawing his arm from his grip. He patted him on the head in affection. “I lie to a lot of people for many reasons, what makes you any different?”

“I-I’m like a brother to you!”

Kirishima laughed and strode forward. He called out over his shoulder, “That just makes you more gullible!” 

“ _Kirishima_!” Izuku whispered sharply after him. He hesitantly followed, taking small, uncertain steps. If they started shooting he wanted a head start. 

The guards straightened as Kirishima stopped in front of them. “The hell you want?” The one man whipped. He hoisted his rifle up halfway, as if to prepare to fire. He spoke in heavily accented english, and his nose pinched up in an angry snarl. While the guards didn’t look like they were heavily built, there was no question they would willingly mow them down. Izuku felt a thrill of fear. This was it, Kirishima was going to finally get them both killed.

“I have an appointment with the warden.” Kirishima answered, unfazed. “He should have mentioned I was coming.”

The two watchmen traded looks with each other, and the one tipped his chin up at Izuku. “Who is this?” 

“My associate and best friend, Izuku Midoriya.” Kirishima announced proudly, stepping aside in a mock introduction. Izuku forced a small smile on his face and half heartedly waved, clutching his journal to him a little tighter.

“Warden did not mention a second.” The man growled suspiciously. He adjusted the grip on his rifle and sized him up. Izuku felt a cold, slimy chill go up his spine as the guards gaze wandered shamelessly over him. He didn’t get this kind of attention often, but it was enough for him to grit his teeth together in indignance. The guard seemed to reach a decision, and he smiled.

“He can wait out here.” The guard drawled, grinning. He looked over at his other companion and they both laughed. Izuku felt Kirishima stiffen slightly next to him.

“If I go in, he goes in.” Kirishima said firmly, his smile dropping only slightly. Anyone other than Izuku may have not noticed it, as good as his brother was in playing up a smile. Izuku tensed as he waited for the guard to react. 

The guard huffed, appearing unconcerned at his tone, and let his rifle hang back on his shoulder. He didn’t seem like he cared enough to argue. Izuku tentatively let out a breath of held in air. This whole ordeal was shaving years off of his lifespan.

“The warden will decide.” The guard said simply. Turning to the gate, he pounded on it sharply, three times in succession. There were a few shouts before heavy locking noises went off. The door howled as it was slowly opened, the sand grating underneath it. Nodding happily to the two watchmen, Kirishima nonchalantly walked next to Izuku, shoulder to shoulder, as they passed the pair. Izuku could feel their gazes boring into him as they walked past, and he felt a little shudder when his back was turned to them. Looking around the prison interior, his eyes widened. 

The prison was surrounded on all sides by the tall walls, formed into the shape of a circle. The walls widened out in the lower half, until it formed into a building that was large enough to host the inmates, who were penned in by thick, rusty iron bars. The prison was obviously old and ill maintained. Despite the hideously obvious flaws, however, the design was effective.

The inmates appeared to be sorted in no easily recognizable order. They all looked disheveled and poorly clothed, dirt and sweat mixing into a filthy sheen that cooked under the hot sun. None of them had to have seen a shower in months, maybe even years. The courtyard was filled to the brim with guards,a majority of them playing cards or other gambling games. Very few appeared to be actually doing work. Some of them stopped what they were doing to glare and him and Kirishima as they walked past. Izuku made a point not to stare, keeping his gaze above them. In the center of everything was a tall wooden hanging rack, which he would wager was well used. 

Izuku reached up and pulled at his collar. He felt sorely out of place, and he wished he’d worn something different. He stuck out like a sore thumb with a white cufflink shirt, beige vest, and oxford slacks and shoes. Then again, he had been thinking he was meeting other fellow archaeologists. Had he known the prison was their destination, he may have dressed less like a studying professor and more like a casual city-dweller.

Kirishima led them to a cell on the left side, and waved to someone on the far wall. 

“There he comes now, good chap.” Kirishima said cheerily. He rested his hands in his pockets, seeming perfectly at ease. Izuku looked up to see there was a large man making his way down off the rampart. He could only assume it was the warden, as the guards made way for him as he descended down the stairs.

“So where, _exactly_ , did you get this box?” Izuku demanded. He felt his gaze kept getting drawn to the hanging rack, and his stomach did a small flip. He didn’t like it here.

“I borrowed it from a bar down in Casbah.” Kirishima said casually, not making eye contact. Izuku’s eyebrows drew in as he scanned his face suspiciously. A lot of what Kirishima said had double meaning, and his eyes narrowed as he pondered that statement. The realization hit him, and his eyes widened, and he pointed his book at Kirishima accusingly.

“Y-You stole it from a drunk in Casbah?!” Izuku exclaimed. A few of the guards turned their heads at his shout. He waved off Kirishima, who was desperately trying to hush him. 

“N-Now, Izuku, this may not be the best place to go over the _finer_ details…” He whispered desperately, scanning the guards around them. 

Izuku was about to chastise him about his criminal activities, and yes he _would_ do it in front of the guards, so help him; before a loud, booming voice cut them off. The two of them looked to see a large, oddly dressed man standing in front of them. He raised an eyebrow questioningly. “You must be Kirishima.” 

Kirishima smiled warmly, stepping in front of Izuku as he offered his hand. The man took it heavily, shaking it with incredible vigor. The warden nodded approvingly when he mirrored his enthusiastic grip, but the heavyset man didn’t return the smile. 

“Yes, yes, I’ve been expecting you.” The warden said simply. He glanced at Izuku curiously, but didn’t say anything as he motioned them towards the holding cell in front of them. It was up against the prison walls, and had a sturdy looking door inside of it. No doubt how they got prisoners in and out of it without having to move them through the courtyard.

The warden waved at one of the guards standing by who had several bruises on arms, a fresh black eye, and a severe looking gash on his forehead that looked like it was still in the middle of healing. The guard scowled angrily at them both before ducking inside a side door that led into the inner wall. Izuku blinked after him, and the air was suddenly filled with tension. 

“So...What is this man in prison for?” Izuku said hesitantly, staring at the cell in trepidation. He had no idea what to expect through those cell bars. Kirishima mixed with the most interesting of riffraff, and this man had apparently found himself a spot in prison. The guards that were watching them before were now looking on with avid interest, some of them inching forward to watch. Was this prisoner well known through the prison? He swallowed thickly.

“I did not know, so when I heard you were coming, I asked him that myself.” The warden said, leaning up against a nearby rail post. 

“And…” Izuku prompted, “What did he say?”

The warden looked at Izuku and smiled, huffing out a single laugh. He looked resigned. “He said-” motioning towards the cell, “He was just looking for a _good time_.” 

Izuku turned his head towards the cell, following the faint sounds of yelling and banging that were suddenly rising from the wall interior. Kirishima whistled softly, wincing in sympathy at Izuku’s incredulous expression. The banging got louder and louder until the door finally slammed open, and a group of four bruised and bloody guards nearly fell out, pulling and fighting a single man in between them all. 

Izuku had jumped when the door had been smashed open, the force having almost been enough to knock it off its hinges. He looked on in shock at the scene before him. The prisoner had a vicious expression on his face, and was fighting the guards with every step they took. The prisoner managed to land a few well placed blows before they finally threw him to the ground on his knees in front of the prison bars. The man had shackles on both of his wrists, but it apparently hadn’t done much good, as all four of the guards were actively bleeding in some way or another. The warden took a few steps back from the cage.

The prisoner had a good amount of stubble on his chin, and long, unkempt blonde hair that nearly reached his shoulders. He glared at him and Kirishima with piercing, angry red eyes, his mouth locked in a snarl. He was well built, his muscles taut in preparation to fight, and Izuku felt a little faint at the thought of being on the receiving end of the man’s punches.

“This-This is the man you stole it from?” Izuku said weakly.

Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck, nodding. 

“Katsuki Bakugou.” The warden announced, raising an eyebrow at Kirishima.

Bakugou spat in the warden’s direction, and one of the guards quickly clubbed him over the top of his head. His head banged up against the bars, but instead of looking in pain, he turned back slightly to give the guard a death glare. 

“And just who the hell are you?” Bakugou growled at Kirishima. He looked over at Izuku and gave him a once over, sneering. His gaze lingered on his oxford shoes and pressed vest. “And who’s the runt?”

“ _Runt_?” Izuku echoed faintly, looking to Kirishima.

Kirishima cleared his throat, stepping forward. “This is my adopted brother, actually.”

Izuku nodded, standing up a little straighter. “How do you do?” He said politely. If everyone else had suddenly forgotten their manners, he surely wouldn’t.

Bakugou harrumphed, tilting his head in a sneer as he considered him. “Yeah, well, he doesn’t look like a total loss.”

A solid red blush lit Izuku’s face. “Wha-What is that supposed to mean?” Izuku questioned loudly, stepping forward. Kirishima held him back by his arm, hushing a few apologetic words that Izuku barely heard. 

The warden next to them was listening intently, turning only when there was suddenly shouting behind them in the distance. He yelled back, craning his neck towards the commotion. The answering yells were in Arabic, and he cursed under his breath. He looked remorsefully at the cell, acting as though he were about to miss out on a good show. “I’ll be back in a moment.” The warden said, glancing at the pair as he reluctantly half ran across the courtyard.

This was their chance. Izuku shook off Kirishima’s grip on his arm and inched forward. “We’ve, uh, found your...uh…” Izuku started awkwardly. The words caught in his mouth. Was there really any way to phrase it without framing Kirishima as a thief? Should he lie and say they found it on the ground, or that it was sold to them? His mind raced and he struggled to find the fitting vocabulary. It didn’t look like his audience, Bakugou, was paying any attention to him, however; instead opting to glare at the guards behind him.

“Yes, uh… Excuse me? Hello.” Izuku questioned, trying to gain back his attention. Bakugou slowly turned his glare back on him, and Izuku gave a small smile. “Yes, we uh… both found your… uh, _puzzle box_ , and we’ve come to ask you about it.” As soon as the words left his mouth Izuku mentally struck himself. He could have phrased it a little more subtly, but hopefully the man had been so drunk he wouldn’t question it, or at least he wouldn’t remember being pickpocketed.

“No.” The blonde said immediately, face deadpan.

“‘No’…” Izuku repeated, face falling slightly.

“No,” Bakugou affirmed, leveling his gaze with Izuku’s, “You’ve come to ask me about Hamunaptra.”

Izuku started, looking around anxiously to see if anyone had overheard. He inched just a little bit closer, keeping his voice just above a whisper. “How...How do you know the box pertains to Hamunaptra?” Izuku asked curiously, his voice barely audible above the prison background. His heart beat a little faster in excitement.

“The hell do you-” Bakugou clipped angrily, barely stopping mid sentence as a guard clubbed him. He hissed as he rubbed the back of his head. Izuku glanced up at the guards, who apparently didn’t appreciate their prisoner’s cursing. That or his tone. In fact, Izuku mused, they may be actively looking for reasons to physically abuse their charge. “Because that’s where I found it.” Bakugou finished, his tone barely concealing his irritation as he glared at the guardsmen behind him. His look promised retribution.

At this, Kirishima stepped forward, going right up to the prison bars and kneeling to Bakugou’s height. “And how do we know that’s not a load of pig swallow?” He asked accusingly.

Bakugou eyes narrowed as he looked at him, and he pointed a finger in his direction, nose pinching up in the beginnings of a snarl. “Don’t I know you?” Bakugou demanded, contemplating him.

Kirishima laughed nervously and waved his hand aside, shaking his head. “No, no… I’ve just one of those faces.” He said dismissively, smiling.

A mere millisecond after he finished talking Bakugou’s face lit up in recognition. Before anyone was able to react, his hand shot out and grabbed Kirishima’s collar, and slammed his face mercilessly into the iron bars. 

Izuku jumped as Kirishima reeled backwards with a pained yelp, his nose already bloody as he stumbled and fell to the ground in a jumbled heap at his feet. The guards simultaneously struck Bakugou with their clubs with quite a bit of force, but his face looked anything but remorseful. If it hadn’t been for the bars, Izuku didn’t doubt Kirishima would have gotten far more than just a bloody nose. 

His brother was still rolling on the ground, nursing his injury. With care, Izuku casually stepped over him, hopping a little to place himself in front of the bars. Bakugou watched with amusement as Izuku bent down, his eyes wide and shining with excitement. “You say...You were actually _at_ Hamunaptra?” He breathed, eyes sparkling.

Bakugou lifted an eyebrow and leaned in closer. “I just fucking decked your…” He looked down at Kirishima, who was slowly trying to get up. “...Adopted brother.” 

“Yes, well,” Izuku dismissed, “He gets into trouble often. It’s not the first, nor I think the last time he’ll get...er, _decked_.”

Bakugou snorted. So maybe the runt wasn’t as timid as he’d initially thought him to be. He smirked with newfound interest. “Alright, bookworm. Yes, I was at the city.” 

“You _swear_?”

“Every fucking day.” 

“Ah, that’s...Not what I-” Izuku stuttered.

“I know what you meant.” Bakugou cut off. “I was at the city. Seti’s place.” He rolled his eyes as Izuku nodded, encouraging him to finish. “Otherwise known as the ‘City of the Dead’.” His tone was dripping with sarcasm, and he couldn’t keep from rolling his eyes. The freckled scholar was far too excited at the mention of its more commonly known name. Bakugou still didn’t believe in any of that nonsense, despite what he thought he saw. Dehydration and a hot sun does crazy things to a man’s head, that he knew for certain.

“What did you find there?” Izuku prompted, kneeling down to Bakugou’s height and fumbling to open his journal in front of him. He procured a pen out of seemingly nowhere and started frantically scribbling in the margins. Bakugou watched in mute amazement as the small scholar started muttering to himself and flipping through the many pages of the book. It had a collection of notes, and drawings of… ancient Egypt? There were also various papers and letters that were carelessly waxed to the interior. If Bakugou didn’t know any better, he’d swear all of the writing didn’t look to even be in english lettering. Before he was able to discern it better, two vivid green eyes caught his questioningly. Izuku held his now unmoving pen in his hand in preparation.

Bakugou waited a moment before answering. “Sand.” He said blandly, “And death.” The muttering bookworm was close enough to the bars that he was able to tap on the journal pages. “Make sure you underline the word sand.” He added sarcastically. Izuku was stunned enough that he waited a beat before slowly jotting down the three words. At least… Bakugou watched him write. He was right, it wasn’t in english. Instead, it looked like a bunch of tiny pictures… hieroglyphs? Who the hell wrote in hieroglyphs? 

“I...see.” Izuku said slowly. He didn’t look very put out, chewing at the top of his pen. He hummed to himself and drew a few more pictures before turning back to Bakugou excitedly. “Could...Could you tell me how to get there?” He asked hopefully. 

Bakugou blinked slowly, looking Izuku over. Small build, short, had probably never fired a gun before. Hell, had probably never held a real weapon before. He’d probably last a day in the desert heat, maybe less. His one hand had bandages on it, but Bakugou would bet money that it had nothing to do with fighting. He’d probably never thrown a punch in his life.

“You?” Bakugou asked, laughing. 

“I mean,” Izuku looked around, spotting the warden still arguing with a few men behind them. He leaned in closer to Bakugou and used his bandaged hand to cup the side of his face so his words weren’t overheard. “The exact location.”

Bakugou smirked at the excited glint that was lighting Izuku’s eyes. The sun illuminated his tousled green hair and soft freckles. He leaned in close and raised an eyebrow, feigning his best innocent expression. “You want to know?” Bakugou asked quietly.

Izuku had to lean in closer so that he could hear him. “I...yes, I do.”

“Do you really want to know?” He asked again, tilting his head slightly as though contemplating Izuku’s resolve.

Izuku moved in even closer, so that his face was but a foot away from the bars. “Yes...I really do.” He breathed earnestly.

Bakugou beckoned him closer with a crooked finger, until Izuku was a mere breath away from the bars. In one quick motion, he grabbed Izuku’s chin and yanked him forward, crashing his mouth against his. 

Instinctively, Izuku tried to jerk back, but Bakugou’s grip was like steel, and held him firmly against his lips. Strong, calloused fingers held him in place like that for a few seconds before he disengaged the kiss, keeping ahold of Izuku’s chin so that their gazes were level. “Then get me the _hell_ out of here!” Bakugou growled, his fierce red eyes burning into him. Izuku could only stare in shock, unable to process what had just happened.

The guards immediately yanked Bakugou backwards onto his feet, freeing Izuku from his grip. In a swiveling motion, Bakugou disengaged the one guard and sent him flying towards the bars. Izuku stumbled back as a full on brawl broke out in the cage, with Bakugou being in the center of it all. In short, violent movements, he managed to down three more guards before a team of five men burst through the back door, barely managing to wrestle him back through. “Do it, runt!” Bakugou shouted, before finally disappearing behind the swarm of guards. Izuku could still hear their shouting as the cage door was wrenched shut behind them. He looked over at the warden, who had returned. A few moments of opening and closing his mouth before he was able to find his words, he pointed at the now empty cage. 

“Where...Where are they taking him?” He managed to wrestle out. 

“To be hanged.” The warden said simply. “Apparently, he had a _very good time_.”

Izuku turned to protest, but the warden was already headed towards the large wooden hanging rack. He grabbed Kirishima, who was now partially standing upright and dabbing at his nose with a soiled red handkerchief. “Kirishima, they’re going to hang that man.” he said desperately.

“Good riddance.” Kirishima said nasally, tilting his head backwards. He pinched his nose shut. “Though I’ll say, the man’s got a killer grip.”

Offhandedly, Izuku was about to agree with him before his cheeks caught fire at the implication. He didn’t think Kirishima had seen what had just occurred, as he was too busy groveling on the ground, and it might as well stay that way. Izuku nervously tapped his fingers on his lips. “Nevermind all that. Without him we’ll never find the city.” He said decidedly. Whether he was trying to convince his brother or himself, he wasn’t sure. 

Maneuvering past Kirishima, he went in the same direction as the warden had, determined. He ignored the odd looks he got as he walked briskly by the gathering guardsmen. With any luck Kirishima was following him, but he didn’t look past his shoulder to check. He skipped a couple steps as he bounded up the side stairs to the main platform, murmuring a few apologies as he brushed past several people. Reaching the warden, the man fixed him an amused smile, and gestured at the chair next to him. 

“Front row seat.” The thickly built man said grandly, patting it. Izuku waged an internal war before hesitantly sitting down next to him. In front of them was the main prison wall. Hundreds of the malnourished, ill washed prisoners were gathered to the front of their confinement, shouting expletives and other foul words in both arabic and english as the guards dragged Bakugou onto the hanging block. Izuku nearly tipped over in his seat as he craned forward to watch. They had now seven men on him, and had tightly bound his arms together with rope behind his back. They had even taken the time to gag him, and Izuku briefly wondered why until he saw the vicious bite marks one of the guards was sporting on his arm. 

As though he knew Izuku was there, Bakugou’s angry gaze almost immediately found him. He broke contact to look over at the warden. “I will give you a hundred pounds to save this man’s life.” Izuku said quickly. The guards on the block must have heard him because his statement was immediately met with taunts and jeers. Bakugou rolled his eyes.

“I would pay a hundred pounds just to watch him hang.” The warden laughed.

“Two, then! Two hundred pounds!”

The warden motioned for the guards to continue.

“Three hundred!” 

He was ignored. Izuku watched as the hangman slung the noose around Bakugou’s neck and yanked it tight, drawing a loud growl from Bakugou. The hangman watched him with a measured expression before he waved the guards off the block, so that it was just them. The prisoners around the rack were getting louder now, urging the proceedings to go faster. Rocks and other items were being thrown. Most fell short of the block, given the distance, but some of them actually reached the lower pegs of the platform, and they bounced off.

“Any last requests?” The hangman asked Bakugou, adjusting the knot.

Bakugou glared at him, the gag still firmly in his mouth.

“Ah…” the man said knowingly. He unwound the gag and tossed it. “Now?”

“Loosen the knot and let me go.” Bakugou clipped.

The hangman appeared at a loss for words. He turned to the warden and shouted in Arabic. The warden reeled back. The question must have stunned him, because he had to process it for a split second before shouting back. Izuku knew only a few of the words, but they were very colorful. He split his gaze between the two arguing men, wishing he had taken the time to fully learn the local language. “Of course we don’t let him go! Proceed!” The warden yelled tiredly, finishing in English. He turned to the guards around him and waved his hands around, exasperated, speaking to them in Arabic. He had to be complaining. The other men seemed to share his opinion, nodding mutely.

The hangman, furious, turned back to Bakugou and smacked him on the back of the head.

“Five hundred pounds!” Izuku shouted, getting more desperate. There were a few choice cries from the courtyard at his offer. Kirishima was going to kill him when he found out how much he was willing to give. In for a penny, in for a pound, Izuku reasoned. Appearing suddenly interested, the warden quickly waved at his men, halting them. A few curses could be heard from below. The warden turned to Izuku, his eyes holding an unfamiliar glint. He smiled lecherously. 

“And what else?” The warden said softly. He reached over and placed one of his hands on Izuku’s upper thigh. “I am a very lonely man.”

Without hesitating, Izuku slammed his heavy journal on the man’s wandering digits. There was enough force behind it that he released Izuku’s leg immediately, hissing from his stung fingers. Booming laughter echoed through the courtyard, and some of the guards doubled over in fits. The warden’s face became tomato red, and he looked like he was about to explode. He glared angrily at Izuku before turning to the block. 

“ _Taqadam_!” He shouted. 

Izuku stood straight out of his chair, knocking it loudly to the floor. “ _No_!” He yelled, watching in horror as the hangman reached for the lever. In one jerking motion, he slammed it backwards, the mechanisms screeching in protest. The trap doors beneath Bakugou’s feet swung open, and he immediately dropped, the rope playing out until it snapped short. Izuku felt his heart stop, staring in horror until the hung man’s eyes met his once more, still very much alive and _angry_. The rope was impossibly tight around his neck, and his teeth were bared and grit together in a growl as he fought to breathe.

“Ah!” The warden shouted, motioning towards him in exasperation, “His neck did not break! Now we have to watch him _strangle_ to death.” 

The noise around the courtyard grew into a loud roar at his words as prisoners and guards alike shouted in a mix of excitement and anger. Izuku could only watch, helpless, as Bakugou gagged, his struggles getting weaker by the second. A sudden thought flitted through his head, and he turned to the warden, heedless of the guards around him.

“This man knows the location to Hamunaptra.” Izuku stated boldly.

The warden looked skeptical. “You lie.” He hissed back.

“I would _never_.” Izuku gasped.

The warden pointed to Bakugou, looking at Izuku speculatively. “Are you saying this filthy, godless son of a pig knows where to find the City of the Dead? Truly?”

Izuku nodded quickly, glancing out of the corner of his eye to see Bakugou was turning several shades of red. “Yes,” Izuku promised, knowing his time was running out, “and if you cut him down we will give you...ten percent.”

“Fifty percent.” The warden countered, scoffing.

Izuku wasn’t dissuaded. “Twenty.”

“Forty.”

Izuku hesitated, biting his lip. “Thirty.”

“Twenty five!”

“Ha!” Izuku exclaimed, pointing at him. “It’s a deal!”

The warden realized his mistake and groaned loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose even as he waved to the hangman. “Cut him down!” He shouted. Izuku was beaming. The command was carried out immediately, the hangman swinging his scimitar and cutting the rope in two with one strong stroke. 

Bakugou fell to the ground, landing powerfully on his back. He inhaled once deeply, coughing as he groaned and rolled over. Finding his footing, he struggled to his feet to glare up at the rampart, frowning at the proud, beaming expression on the wannabe professor. The nerve of that runt was unbelievable, taking the time to argue over percents while he was choking to death. Bakugou felt someone tugging on the ropes that held his arms, and instinct nearly drove him to spin around and take them out, before he realized the ropes were being effectively cut. The guard that freed him stepped back quickly, and Bakugou gave him a black look as he flexed his hands, feeling the rush of blood quickly pool back into his numb fingers. 

From above, Izuku watched Bakugou yank the cut noose from his neck, throwing it on the ground in anger. He shuddered when the blonde’s fiery glare caught his again, and he found he couldn’t tear his gaze away until he was clapped soundly on the shoulder. He jumped to face his brother, wincing a little when he saw Kirishima’s face was still a bloody mess.

“What did I miss?” Kirishima said dumbly, looking around in confusion.

Izuku laughed a little, pulling a handkerchief from one of his inner pockets to hopelessly dab at the dried blood on his brother’s face. “Everything. But don’t worry, I’ve secured us our guide.”

Kirishima leaned over the railing, groaning audibly when he saw Bakugou. “Wonderful.” 

“And now,” Izuku said, turning to the warden, “We’re going to need a boat.”


	4. River Cruise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wildly incorrect Arabic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters being redone as I go along.

It was early afternoon the next day at the Giza city dock, crowds thick and loud as Izuku and Kirishima made their way through. In the distance, the three pyramids of Giza loomed over them, proudly stretching into the sky. Everything from fancy cruises to simple sailboats drifted idly in the reflective water of the Nile.

The dock was a hotspot for tourists and explorers alike, with men hauling large crates, barrels, and trunks into their ships. There were even animals. A few pens with chickens were being handed off, and some men were boarding up fine looking horses and camels. At one point, Izuku could have sworn he saw a jaguar off in one corner, half covered with an old cloth tarp.

A few errant salesmen were weaving through the rabble, selling baubles and trinkets for the tourists. Izuku couldn’t help but smile when he saw the hawkers barter off toy tombs and King Tut action figures. Despite their proximity to the real thing, the recreations were riddled with historical errors. 

“Do you really think he’ll come?” Izuku said, looking up at Kirishima. The boat was due to leave soon. He had to put his hand over his eyes to block them from the bright sun.

Slung over his shoulder, the small carrier he had on his side mewled and shook in anger. With an air of guilt, Izuku shushed and patted it soothingly. Ochako, his cat, was the only thing he didn’t trust the ship’s crewmen to load. Kirishima had protested he bring her, but the thought of leaving poor Ochako alone for possibly several weeks didn’t sit well with him. 

“Undoubtedly.” Kirishima assured, offering a finger to the front of the carrier. Ochako, as irritated as she was, sniffed it and settled down. Kirishima smiled. “I know the breed. He may be a cowboy, but his word is his word.”

Humming, Izuku looked at him skeptically, clutching Ochako’s carrier strap a little tighter. “Well personally, I think he’s very rude.” His cheeks lit up a little bit as he remembered the kiss. “And a complete and total scoundrel.” He added harshly.

“Anybody I know?” A voice lilted behind them. 

Izuku and Kirishima turned to look at the speaker. Izuku was momentarily stunned. It was Bakugou, undoubtedly, but wholly different from what he remembered. The man had taken the time to properly shave and shower, his hair cropped to a respectable length. It was still wild looking, but the blonde was much more vivid after a good wash, and the edges brought attention to his intense, red eyes.

Eyes widening slightly, Izuku fought the urge to step back. He remembered the man being quite muscular, but had he always been this tall? A few moments passed and Bakugou noticed him staring, raising an eyebrow.

“Ah...Um...H-Hello.” Izuku managed, before being immediately overshadowed by his brother.

Kirishima excitedly grabbed Bakugou’s arm, ignoring the slightly disgusted glare he received, and shook his hand. “Smashing day for the start of an adventure, wouldn’t you say Mr. Bakugou?” Kirishima said jovially, winking when he added the extra formality. He patted Bakugou’s chest good naturedly.

Bakugou didn’t immediately respond, pulling himself from Kirishima’s grip and staring him down warily as he checked his inner coat pocket to ensure his wallet was still in its rightful place. 

Kirishima laughed, waving him off. “Oh, no, I never steal from a partner...partner.”

Eyes narrowing slightly, Bakugou didn’t look convinced. Sensing conflict, Izuku stepped in between them both, lightheartedly trying to diffuse the tension. “Well we’ve an awful long way to go with each other, so we should ensure we all get along, don’t you think?” Izuku questioned, switching his pleading gaze between the two of them. As though personally voicing her protest, Ochako meowed again from her container, louder than before.

“Is that…?” Bakugou started, leaning down to peer into the carrier depths. Ochako growled from within. “Is that a fucking cat?” He finished, disbelieving. 

Izuku moved the carrier behind him defensively. “This is Ochako. I wasn’t going to leave her.”

Bakugou looked at him like he’d grown two heads. “Who the hell brings a fucking _cat_ on a dangerous journey through Egypt?”

“Ochako can take care of herself.” Izuku said adamantly, clutching the carrier strap. Bakugou looked wholly ready to argue that, before Izuku cut him off, changing the subject. “Mr. Bakugou, I need you to look me in the eyes and guarantee this isn’t just some kind of,” he waved his hands nonsensically, “ _flim-flam_ , or what have you. Because if it is, I’m warning you now-” 

He stopped abruptly as Bakugou suddenly stood over him, stepping into his space. “You’re _warning_ me?” Bakugou said lowly, his voice dropping a few octaves.

Feeling suddenly small, Izuku managed to nod.

Bakugou laughed briefly, stepping even closer so that he towered over him. “All I can tell you, _sir_ ,” He hissed, “is that my Colonel found that map in an ancient fortress, and the whole fucking garrison believed in it so much, that without orders, they marched halfway across Libya into Egypt to find that fucking city. Like I told you before, all they found was _sand and death_.” At that, Bakugou skirted around them, heading towards their boat. It was like a great weight was lifted from Izuku’s chest as he regained his personal space.

As he ascended the ship stairs, he paused for a moment. “Not my fault if that fucking cat dies.” Bakugou called out over his shoulder. 

Kirishima raised a brow at Izuku, who was reeling from Bakugou’s casual disclaimer, waiting until the blonde was out of earshot. “Right- What was that about ‘ensuring we all get along’ or some nonsense?” He teased Izuku, nudging him with his elbow.

“Oh, quiet.” Izuku quipped, watching Bakugou board. “We weren’t arguing in the least.”

Kirishima hummed skeptically. “Whatever you say.” He shrugged. 

Rolling his eyes, Izuku sighed. The man could be incredibly intimidating, and he knew it. If Izuku didn’t make the boundaries clear, there was no doubt Bakugou would take advantage. After he unpacked, perhaps they could have a chat.

Muttering quietly to himself, he didn’t notice the large figure next to him until it was too late. The man bumped into him, Ochako’s carrier taking most of the hit. She yowled as she was partially smashed against his side. 

“Beg pardon.” The man said, tipping his hat, as he briefly turned to face him. Izuku’s mouth dropped open in shock as he recognized him.

“What-What are you doing here?” Izuku exclaimed. It was the warden, and he was carrying a very heavy suitcase. His heart sank at the implication. 

“Protecting my investment.” The warden said simply, pushing past them. “Thank you _very_ much.” 

Gods, this was already making out to be a _very_ long journey. Izuku groaned loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He really didn’t want to have to put up with that man anymore than he already had.

Noticing his exasperation, Kirishima looked at him questioningly. “Did I miss something? Is there a reason why you dislike him?” He asked.

Waving his hand in rapid dismissal, Izuku gave him a withering look. “I’d really rather not talk about it.”

Beside him, Ochako was throwing a full blown fit in the carrier. She was never going to forgive him at this rate. He unzipped the front, briefly reaching in to pet her soothingly. Both for her sake and for his. Petting Ocha always calmed him down, no matter the circumstance. As it would for anyone else, Izuku would claim. She was a beautiful, long haired brown ragdoll, and her fur was smooth to the touch. At home, she made the perfect book-rest, and Izuku would spend long evenings with her curled up in his lap.

While ordinarily she was sweet, Izuku would grudgingly admit she did have a stubborn side, and was more than a little spoiled. It was showing itself now as she yowled in complaint of her treatment. Izuku withdrew his hand, going to re-zip the cover. The instant the opening was clear, though, she burst through the front of the carrier, bolting into the Giza port crowd.

A lance of adrenaline shot through his chest. “Ochako _NO_!” Izuku shouted, pushing past Kirishima with force. His adopted brother nearly fell over in a startled yell as he blazed past him, not even hesitating to start chasing her down the walkway.

Distantly, he could hear Kirishima shout startled protests behind him, but the words were lost. The boat was departing in a few minutes, and it would leave without them if he couldn’t catch her in time. A mere streak of fur, Ochako weaved through people’s legs as she ran with seemingly no destination.

Izuku crashed into several people as he pursued her, knocking some men over. One stocky worker was hauling a large barrel when he clipped his shoulder, and Izuku quickly yelled out an apology, not stopping, as the man lost his grip and the barrel went flying.

It smashed onto the ground, and a river of fish burst through, spilling onto the pathway in a tidal wave. A few people screamed, and others slipped on the mess as it coated the walkway in a slimy film.

Not slowing, Izuku winced in guilt as he heard the yells and shouts behind him. Ahead of him, he could see Ochako’s fluffy tail as she darted across the dock, and he blanched as he suddenly saw her new target:

A teriyaki chicken stand.

\--------------------------------Meanwhile

Bakugou lazily set down his weapon bag on a side table as he slowly surveyed the cruise. It was large, and it seemed like they would be sharing it with other people. It figured. The warden was, and always would be, a cheapskate. Hamunaptra or no, he wouldn’t miss the chance to spare a few farthings. It’d be important to scope out who they’d be traveling with on the highly likely chance that they were boarding with treasure hunters. If they weren’t careful they’d all wake up with their throats slit.

Before Bakugou could take the chance to prowl, he heard a large uproar on the docks below. Turning over to the railing, his eyes widened as he saw the runt’s figure barreling his way through the port crowd, leaving a wake of ruin behind him. In front of him was a small, fluffy brown animal.

It looked like a cat. 

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me-?” Bakugou snapped. They hadn’t even left the dock yet. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a pistol and tucked it in his back waistband. If the runt missed the boat they’d all be fucked over, adding several days to their travel time. That absolutely was not happening.

He brushed past Kirishima, knocking into the man’s shoulder as stormed off the boat, cursing. 

Kirishima called after him, leaning over the railing. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much, he’s always had a touch of bad luck.” He laughed nervously, watching in dismay even as Bakugou shouldered his way onto the dock. Ignored, completely. “He’ll be back in time to leave.” He tried again, louder.

Bakugou didn’t look like he would be so easily dissuaded, and Kirishima watched helplessly as he took off after his poor brother. He rubbed his nose absently, which still hurt from yesterday’s punch. “Sorry, Izuku.” He murmured to himself. “You’re on your own with this one.”

In a quick, steady pace, Bakugou maneuvered his way past the broken barrel of fish. There were a multitude of people who were gathered around the destruction, hurriedly throwing the fish into spare boxes, and picking up the broken wood pieces. Some other men were working to restack several sets of fallen crates. He marched through, ignoring the angry cries as he heedlessly shoved past them.

Forty feet ahead, he saw the familiar head of wind tossed green hair shaking in dismay. There was a group of three beefy looking men who held him in captive audience. They appeared to be shouting.

\----- 

Izuku shook his head, clutching Ochako to him. “I’ll pay for the pieces she took, shouldn’t that be enough?”

The men were all red in the face, the two not speaking a word of english. Izuku again berated himself for not learning the local language. Ochako had managed to jump _into_ the food stand, and had wreaked havoc for a good half minute before he had quickly swiped her off the table.

The leader, which he could only assume was the owner, spoke English very brokenly, and he waved a fist at him angrily as he barked demands. “Hand the animal over - _Alssariq_!”

Izuku tightened his hold on Ochako as he stepped back. She didn’t seem to mind his rough handling, chewing contentedly on her prize: a hot stick of teriyaki chicken. The men followed his movements, crowding over him as their rage intensified. The owner was wielding a large butcher knife in his other hand, which was most likely used for cutting the chicken strips, if his stained apron was any guess. He was waving it at every syllable threateningly.

Gritting his teeth, Izuku held firm. He knew locals didn’t take kindly to stray, wandering animals that got into trouble. Ochako wasn’t a stray, but that didn’t change the mindset. On more than one occasion he had seen loose dogs put down or shot by local neighbors simply because their presence was a nuisance. They weren’t touching Ochako.

“I’m not handing her over to you, it’s _entirely_ uncalled for. I’ll pay for the ruined pieces, that is more than enough compensation for-” Izuku blanched as the owner charged forward.

Flinching, Izuku stumbled backwards to avoid him, his back hitting something solid.

The stand owner’s eyes widened at someone behind him, but before Izuku was able to turn around, the unknown person roughly wrenched the neck of his shirt upwards, and he was yanked to the side like a scruffed kitten. He blinked in shock as regained his footing, staring above him to see a very angry looking Bakugou.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?” Bakugou shouted. “The boat is about to _fucking_ leave.”

“I- that is- the cat-” Izuku stuttered. Ochako growled halfheartedly around her food.

The stand owner started forward, shouting at them in Arabic before pausing as Bakugou pointed a single finger at him, his face volcanic. The butcher knife was apparently not very threatening to him. The hold on Izuku’s collar tightened.

“ _Alhusul ealaa allaenat min huna qabl 'an, 'atlaq alnaar ealayk al'ahmaq jadidatan_!” Bakugou growled, shoving Izuku backwards in the direction of the boat. Izuku looked over his shoulder to see the owner’s face was shocked.

Whatever Bakugou had said, the man hadn’t been expecting to hear it.

“What did you tell them?” Izuku asked, scrabbling alongside him. He didn’t know the soldier was capable of speaking Arabic, but he supposed it only made sense. The majority of the men in prison most likely spoke only in their mother tongue. The stand disappearing from sight, a sudden realization occurred to him and he squirmed.

“Wait, I didn’t pay them for the damages-” Izuku gasped, struggling to turn around. Bakugou’s hold didn’t lessen. He moved his arm up to try and dislodge the harsh grip on his shirt, but Bakugou kept a firm grasp on it, and continued tugging him along beside him.

“If you would please, _unhand me_.” Izuku demanded, digging in his heels. It didn’t seem to have any effect, and Bakugou didn’t respond, maneuvering them around the fresh chaos that was left in Ochako’s wake.

They received several angry glares from a multitude of people as they passed, but none of the gathered workmen approached them. Their hesitation was undoubtedly on Bakugou’s behalf. Izuku had to settle with giving them remorseful looks as they whipped by.

Bakugou unceremoniously released him when they reached the deck, glaring at the contented cat in his arms, who was still clutching the chicken strip in her mouth. “ _Don’t_ leave this ship.” Bakugou ordered. Just at that moment, the boat horn blared, indicating they had five minutes until departure. They were standing right next to the sound when it went off, and the noise was deafening. Ochako startled violently in his arms, and he nearly lost his grip on her.

“I was perfectly capable of walking back here on my own, thank you.” Izuku huffed, flattening Ochako to his chest as his ears rang. If she got loose again he had a feeling Bakugou would sooner throw her overboard than help him chase after her again. He thought of the strong hand grabbing his shirt. He had never been so roughly handled before. It was completely embarrassing, and it sent the wrong message. The term he had used earlier, ‘scoundrel’, filtered through his head, and he quickly decided to add ‘brute’ to the mix. Nevertheless, the better part of him reasoned, Bakugou had helped him and that warranted gratitude. Izuku tilted his chin up. “Thank you for helping me.” He said politely, the words coming out more clipped than he intended.

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed. It was like he hadn’t heard him. “No less than five fucking minutes ago - _five_ \- I told you bringing that damn cat was a bad idea-” He started to argue, stopping only when Izuku abruptly turned heel, giving him his back as he strode across the deck to open the boat’s interior door. He looked back to see Bakugou’s incredulous expression as he paused in the doorway.

“If you don’t mind, Mr. Bakugou, I will be unpacking.” Izuku said curtly, shutting the door firmly behind him. 

Nobody had ever walked off on him like that. Not while he was talking. Indignance flared to life in his chest. Who the _hell_ did this runt think he- “Brat - don’t walk away when I’m talking!” Bakugou shouted after him. 

“If you’re thinking you can make him choose between you or the cat, he’s going to choose the cat.” Kirishima cut in idly behind him. Bakugou turned and Kirishima held up his hands in surrender when he saw his face. “Just from personal experience.” Kirishima added quickly, clutching his nose defensively.

Bakugou didn’t respond, storming off to retrieve his gunny sack from the table he’d left it on. Upon turning the corner, however, he found that it had garnered a crowd.

“Need help?” Bakugou snapped, gaining their attention. It was a small group of four separate men; all of them comically different from the other. One was short and punchy looking, while the one next to him was tall and gangly. They were leaning up against the wall, smoking large cigars. The two sitting at the table around his bag looked a mite more intelligent. The one had a sharp round haircut and thin glasses, his face hardly visible underneath the book he was reading. The other was blonde and cocky looking, and met Bakugou’s eyes unflinching. Despite their differences, they all looked distinctly American, sporting cowboy vests and six round pistols on either side of their silver buckled belts. None of them appeared startled or intimidated by Bakugou’s tone, the ones leaning against the wall opting to give him lopsided grins instead.

__

“No, sir.” The short one drawled, puffing his smoke out in large circles.

__

Bakugou snatched his weapon bag from the table, nearly knocking over the glasses of whiskey they had resting on it. The cocky looking blonde merely gave him a large, knowing smile. Bakugou’s gaze narrowed. Leaving the bag alone couldn’t have been helped, thanks to the runt. He’d have to do a thorough inventory check to make sure nothing was missing. The blonde set off all his warning bells. Tossing the duffel over his one shoulder, Bakugou gave them one last piercing look before heading off to his own room. He had some unpacking to do as well.

__

_\-------- Night_

__

__

The Nile was distinctly quiet. They had gone pretty far out by now, and were likely the only boat on the water for miles. The moon wasn’t quite full, but the Nile reflected its light nonetheless, and the surrounding landscape was decently illuminated as well. Tall reeds lined either side of the river in various stages of life. Some bowed deep under the surface, while others stood tall and healthy. The wind lightly rustled them, drawing forth the soft cry of insects. The boat, however, was not quiet in the least. It was brightly lit, and the Americans were being loud to the point of being obnoxious, yelling and drinking with each other over a game of poker.

__

Bakugou emerged from the boat interior, weapon bag across his torso, to find Kirishima in the middle of the ruckus, in possession of a decent amount of poker chips. The table was littered with cards and half full whiskey glasses. In the game were three of the four Americans, the only one not participating the bowl cut man with the glasses, who was still focused on his book in the far corner. Upon hearing the door open, Kirishima turned to give Bakugou a huge smile, waving him over with a large fan of cards in his hand.

__

“Come on over here Mr. Bakugou, and cash in on the fun!” Kirishima encouraged, setting his play of cards back down on the table. He took care to set them face down before taking the deck in his hands and mixing them in an excessively elaborate fashion. He counted out the cards and offered the set to him.

__

The tall, gangly looking American chuckled when Bakugou didn’t immediately take it, leaning backwards in his chair until it creaked under the strain. “Come on, now, we could use another good player.”

__

Bakugou would bet by the man’s dwindling chip stack, he most certainly didn’t. “I bet with my life, never my money.” He said lowly, staring him down. 

__

The cocky blonde from before stirred at this, raising an eyebrow from his place on the table. “Is that the case?” He droned, fingering through his cards. He placed an eight of diamonds face up in front of him, and there was a collective of groans. He smirked, looking up at Bakugou as he took another card from the card bank. “And what if I was to bet you five hundred dollars we reach Hamunaptra first?”

__

The smirk is what did it. The bait was deliberate, but entirely effective. Bakugou felt the challenge ignite in his chest as he flexed his shoulders back, mirroring the confident blonde’s sneer. He didn’t like this fucker, not one goddamn bit. “You’re on.” He snarled, tucking his hands in his pockets.

__

The American wearing glasses in the corner lowered his book, giving Bakugou a peculiar gaze. “And what makes you so sure, sir?” He queried, his tone contrastingly sincere.

__

“What makes you?” Bakugou countered.

__

“Well,” The gangly looking American cut in from the table, “We’ve got us a man who’s actually been.”

__

Kirishima perked up at that. “I say, what a coincidence! We’ve actually got someo-”

__

At that moment Bakugou subtly, but powerfully, kicked Kirishima’s chair from behind, effectively cutting him off and knocking him forward. Kirishima’s elbows crashed into his poker chips and they all scattered on the table in a loud clatter. Kirishima seemed to immediately take the hint, hurriedly gathering his scrambled pieces and quickly restacking him. He had the good grace to look sheepish. “Ah, my bad - I can be as clumsy as my brother sometimes.” Kirishima apologized with a shaky laugh, letting a remorseful smile light his face.

__

The cocky blonde American peered at him disdainfully from over his cards, watching in disgust as Kirishima dutifully reassembled his pieces. None of the rest of the table appeared to have noticed it was Bakugou who caused the accident.

__

Bakugou smiled, and it was acutely unsettling. He nonchalantly placed a strong, warning hand on Kirishima’s shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, Bakugou caught a glimpse of movement. Barely turning his head, he caught a fleeting image of the warden’s large figure creep past the second level. “Where’s your brother?” He asked calmly, and nobody but Kirishima seemed to notice the extra edge the question had.

__

“Uh, muttering to himself over by the camels, last I saw.” Kirishima jittered nervously. Bakugou pounded him cheerfully on the shoulder before tightening his grip impossibly hard.

__

“Stay out of trouble.” Bakugou dismissed happily. He harshly crunched Kirishima’s shoulder between his fingers, making the threat impossible to misinterpret. Kirishima merely nodded mutely as Bakugou sauntered off towards the camels on the other side of the ship.

__

_\----_

__

__

Izuku lightly tapped his mouth with his pen, contemplating his notes in comparison with the text he was reading. The main deck was being incredibly loud, and sitting near the camels was the only place he could be left alone while enjoying the fresh air. He sighed, skirting his finger among the body of the paragraph. It didn’t add up. Why would all of the political figures from the All Might era wipe their real names from history? And how? Izuku sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked over at the horizon, resting his chin in his hands. It was beautiful. The boat’s lights reflected in the calm water as it rippled beneath them. He traced the whirling patterns of light in his head as it lulled him. Izuku felt his eyes start to close as his exhaustion started to weigh them down. He could so easily fall asleep here…

__

_**_WHAM!_ ** _

__

Izuku nearly jumped out of his seat in shock, barely containing his yelp. A large duffel bag was thrown onto his table, the force having scattered some of his papers. His one hand clung to his shirt, just over his heart, as though he could keep it from pounding out of his chest. He looked up to see Bakugou smirking down at him.

__

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” Bakugou grinned, not looking in the least apologetic.

__

The only thing that scares me, Mr. Bakugou, are your manners.” Izuku said primly, gathering up his scattered articles. He eyed Bakugou warily as he sat down across from him.

__

“Still angry about that kiss, then?” Bakugou questioned, unbuckling the duffel, “Or is it about this morning?”

__

A warm flush crept onto Izuku’s face. “If you would call that a kiss…” Izuku muttered under his breath. He didn’t mention the morning’s incident. The guilt was still slowly eating at him. Ochako was sleeping off her food coma in his room below, having already found a prime spot in the center of his pillow.

__

Bakugou either didn’t hear him or simply didn’t respond, unraveling the buckle that held his duffel closed. It split, rolling open on the table. Izuku’s eyes widened when he saw the contents. Revolvers, pistols, hunting knives, a massive elephant gun, and half a dozen sticks of dynamite were just some of the many weapons that lined the bag’s interior. He watched in morbid fascination as Bakugou took out one of the revolvers and started dismantling it.

__

“Did… Did I miss something?” Izuku asked, setting his book aside. He reached over and pulled out a small, hook-like object from the lineup, tapping the sharp tip with his finger. “Are we going into battle?”

__

It was an impressive arsenal. Izuku couldn’t name half of the objects that were resting in the duffel. When he was younger, Izuku would catch glimpses of his father’s guns when he moved them to and from the safe, but he was never allowed close, and most certainly was not allowed to touch. The small, gutting weapon he held know looked like it could be grasped between the knuckles. He absently stroked the sharp curve of the steel.

__

Bakugou reached over and plucked the blade from Izuku’s hand. “You’re going to cut yourself.” He hissed, tucking it back in its former place. “And as far as I’m concerned, we are.” He resumed cleaning his gun, even as Izuku regarded him thoughtfully. “The _last_ time I was there, everyone I was with fucking _died_.” Bakugou clarified.

__

Izuku blinked before nodding in understanding. That was right, Bakugou had mentioned that before. Izuku absently traced the hem of the duffel bag with his finger, inhaling deeply. It would only make sense that Hamunaptra was defended in some way. “You never told me how.”

__

Bakugou didn’t answer right away, clicking the pieces of the pistol back together and grabbing the next one before speaking. “Assholes with horses. Didn’t know who they were. Possibly Tuareg warriors.” He smirked, disengaging the clip of the revolver. “Nobody you could handle, runt."

__

“Do you even remember my name?” Izuku accused, back straightening. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t think of a single instance in which Bakugou had addressed him by his name.

__

“Your name?”

__

“Yes, my name- if you’d ever cared to ask-”

__

“Midoriya Izuku.” Bakugou cut off, sneering. “I fucking know your name, brat. I’m not a fucking idiot.”

__

Izuku wasn’t a very spiritual person, but he prayed to the gods now for patience. He sucked in a deep breath between his teeth. “Well whoever those men were, I hope they don’t make another appearance.” Izuku hadn’t thought of it much before, but he most likely wouldn’t be very good in a fight. Bakugou scoffed, making a show of cocking the barrel back into place with a loud snap, swapping it out with the large shotgun.

__

Izuku watched him silently for a few minutes as he cleaned the gun barrel. He couldn’t understand why Bakugou took the time to go and sit next to him. The boat was plenty big enough for him to clean his deadly menagerie elsewhere. Humming softly, Izuku reopened his journal and reviewed his notes quietly.

__

They sat like that for several minutes before a sudden thought occurred to him. “Mr.Bakugou.” Izuku started gently. Bakugou gave him an irritated glance from his seat. “What do _you_ think is in that city? Other than uh… sand and blood, of course.” He added quickly.

__

“Bad fucking luck.” Bakugou replied casually. “The Tuaregs and Bedouin believe that Hamunaptra is cursed. They call it ‘The Doorway to Hell’. With the surrounding landscape, I’d say it’s more of a fucking deathtrap.”

__

Izuku smiled from his journal, twirling the pen in his fingers. Despite the man’s gruff nature, he was actually rather intelligent. “Ahmar is Ossirion. It’s more like a…. passageway to the underworld.”

__

“Sounds like the same fucking thing.” Bakugou clipped. He tried not to stare at the scholar’s slender fingers as they danced around his pen. He was losing his fucking mind.

__

“In a few ways, I suppose.” Izuku mused, scribbling in the margins. “I don’t really believe in all the fairy tales and hokum surrounding the city, but I do believe that one of the most famous books in history is buried there; The Book of the Living. It’s what first interested me in Egypt as a child. It just kind of….” He looked off into the horizon, “Drew me here.”

__

Bakugou snorted. “Right. And the fact that they say it’s made out of pure gold holds no nevermind for you, right?"

__

At that, Izuku’s dreamy expression snapped back to him. “You know your history!” He exclaimed, a proud smile lighting his face.

__

“I know my treasure.” Bakugou corrected. The small scholar didn’t seem any less happy at his correction, beaming to himself as he finished what he was writing, tentatively closing his book with a thoughtful expression.

__

Izuku leaned back in his chair, pulling his book and journal with him, setting them on his lap. He traced the book title in his fingers. He wasn’t sure how to approach the subject that was still eating at his mind, especially with someone he couldn’t quite seem to understand all the way through. He decided to be direct. “Why did you kiss me?”

__

“Oh, so now you call it a kiss?” Bakugou’s eyes flicked up from the gun he was working on to meet Izuku’s, the reds dancing in the low light, his hands not pausing in their work. Izuku flushed at the way his eyes pierced him. So he had heard him earlier. 

__

“Well? Are you going to answer the question or not?” He pressed. He wanted to know why.

__

Bakugou frowned, eyes returning to the firearm in front of him. He clicked the barrel back and promptly replaced it before shrugging. “Was about to be hanged. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

__

Izuku floundered for a moment before white hot embarrassment and anger mixed in his chest. He stood abruptly, nearly knocking down the chair in his haste. “You! You! You’re a scoundrel, you know that?”

__

Bakugou met his eyes, looking unimpressed by the display. “What?”

__

Izuku huffed, his cheeks flaring even brighter before he finally turned heel and stormed off.

__

“What?” Bakugou yelled after him, watching as Izuku clipped past the corner. Why the hell was he mad? “The fuck did I say?” He yelled, disbelieving. He didn’t get an answer, and he could only listen as the stomp of Izuku’s footsteps gradually faded off. Frustrated, Bakugou slammed his shotgun on the table in a loud snarl. A mere moment later, he heard what sounded like a snicker.

__

Immediately, Bakugou yanked his revolver from the table, cocking the stop backwards. His eyes scanned his surroundings, instantly catching on an unusual shadow shaped like a head behind an errant stack of crates and supplies. Bakugou berated himself. Ordinarily he wouldn’t let something so obvious slip past him, but the fucking starry eyed scholar was incredibly distracting.

__

Jerking forward, Bakugou reached past the crates and yanked the stranger out of his hiding spot with an incredible amount of force, pulling them backwards before slamming them into the stack of crates. Bakugou’s eyes widened before narrowing into a silent snarl when he recognized them.

__

“M-My friend!” Mineta greeted shakily, sweating under the intense scrutiny, “I thought you were dead - I’m so very, very glad to see you’re alright.”

__

“Well if it isn’t my little buddy Mineta.” Bakugou drawled, lifting Mineta a little higher in his grip. He slowly looked him up and down, contemplating, before finally nodding. “Yeah. I think I’ll kill you.” He aimed the revolver straight at Mineta’s chest, finger on the trigger.

__

“Wait!” Mineta screeched, “Thi-Think of my children!”

__

“You don’t _have_ any fucking kids.” Bakugou hissed, digging the revolver barrel deeper into Mineta’s torso.

__

Mineta seemed to process that, before looking at Bakugou sincerely. “Someday I might.” He said quietly.

__

“Shut the fuck up.” Bakugou growled, slamming Mineta into the crates again. He let out a little squeak of pain, flinching as the revolver once again bit into his chest. “I should’ve fucking known you were the one leading the Americans.” Bakugou snarled. “So what’s the fucking scam? They pay you, you lead them out in the middle of the desert and leave them to rot?”

__

“Unfortunately no.” Mineta groaned, “The Americans are smart. They only pay me half now, half when I get them back to Cairo, so I have to go all the way."

__

“Well isn’t that a fucking shame?” Bakugou sneered. He let go of Mineta roughly, nearly throwing him to the ground.

__

Mineta scrambled to his feet, his movements jerky as he shuffled away. He rubbed the back of his head, wincing. He looked up at Bakugou warily. “You never believed in Hamunaptra, Bakugou. Why are you going back?”

__

“I owe someone a debt, and unlike some people, I’m true to my word.” Bakugou seethed. It would have been easier to just leave Mineta to die back at the city all those months ago. He couldn’t think of a single redeeming quality he had that would warrant a reason for him to continue living. But if he shot him here outright, the Americans would get on his ass.

__

Mineta frowned at him, thinking, before his face lit up as he made the connection. “The green haired man with the cat.” He blurted, eyes widening in recognition. He gave Bakugou a knowing glance. “More balls than brain it sounds like, eh Bakugou?” He laughed. “Not that I blame you- if it were me I’d-”

__

Bakugou seized Mineta, dragging him to the railing and violently throwing him overboard. Mineta hit the water with a loud smack, the resounding splash unusually loud in the quiet. Fuck the Americans.

__

“Good fucking bye, Mineta.” Bakugou breathed, rolling the duffel bag closed and buckling it. He heard Mineta splutter as he resurfaced, splashing wildly in the water. Bakugou threw the bag over his shoulder to walk back to the front deck before he suddenly froze.

__

On the deck in front of him were large, wet footprints leading from the railing. Mineta was still thrashing beside the boat. It couldn’t have been him. Alarm bells already blaring in his head, he bent down so the prints could catch the light and he could see them better. They were still relatively new. Bakugou cursed. Another fucking mistake. Whoever it was managed to literally sneak by right under his nose. At this rate everyone was going to get killed. Standing straight, Bakugou slowly followed the trail.

__

He swore richly. They led to the boat interior.

__


	5. Fire!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only you can prevent boat fires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Copious amounts of manhandling
> 
> Camels can swim 2k17

Izuku paced back and forth in his room on the lower deck. The sounds of gambling from upstairs could still be faintly heard through the floorboards, but it was muffled enough to still be peaceful. It was a shame he couldn’t let in the wind. The two shuttered windows on either side of the room would normally be left open; but he had closed them to help block out the noise. That and so he could change into his nightclothes. A cool breeze was what he needed, though. Something to help him think. But there was no way he was going back up on deck and risk running into Bakugou again. Izuku sighed, tiredly rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. The room was lit by a few scattered candles and dimmed gas lanterns that hung on the walls. He held his journal in one hand, muttering off dates and their corresponding literature. 

“The 7th, the 8th… but then that means the pharaoh before had been successfully murdered, which doesn’t make sense if they’re both spoken as being the same thing-” Izuku rambled off. He unbuttoned his vest and shirt, slipping them past his shoulders before reaching down to repeat the process with his trousers. He hopped a little as he pulled them off and climbed into his long, slightly sheer cotton bottoms. It was warm, but breathable fabric.

Ochako watched him from her spot on his pillow, tail flicking absently as she idly dozed. She was used to Izuku’s endless mutterings, and waited patiently for him to wear himself out. Izuku slung the trousers and shirt over his arm, still muttering as he reached to hang them up. He promptly missed the hanging rack, and they fell to the floor. Izuku continued his pacing, walking by as if he hadn’t noticed. Running his hand through his hair, he stopped suddenly, throwing his journal down on the center room table with a loud smack while swiping his thin cotton nightshirt off the chair.

“Oh, come off it Izuku, it wasn’t that good of a kiss anyway.” He snapped to himself, whipping the shirt on. He fumbled with the buttons, silently fuming. The red flush hadn’t quite left his cheeks yet, and the after image of Bakugou’s red gaze after he’d demanded an explanation left him feeling a little flustered. It wasn’t like he was attracted to him or anything, he just.... He struggled to think of a descriptor for his emotions. Nothing immediately came to mind, and he looked at Ochako’s dozing form, exasperated. “I mean, he’s not bad looking or anything, and he’s not a moron either…” He bit his lip, his gaze narrowing. “But he is an asshole, isn’t he?”

Ochako didn’t move from her resting position, but she flicked her tail at him to indicate she agreed.

He sighed, moving his journal over from where he’d thrown it. He had laid the burnt map back on the table to examine it closer. While Hamunaptra had been burned off, the map in and of itself was still a valuable piece of history, and could possibly contain a few more unknown secrets. Izuku trailed the rough papyrus with his hands, inspecting the pictures in the soft candlelight. He hadn’t told Aizawa where he was going. He hoped the disheveled professor wasn’t too worried. While he was normally lukewarm and dismissive towards Izuku, he had an uncanny ability to stick his nose into his business.

Huffing, Izuku strode over to the bureau and grabbed his brush, hopelessly trying to detangle his wild mass of hair. He gave up after a few moments, pausing to look at himself in the mirror. His skin was very lightly tanned, despite how much time he spent in the library. It was near impossible to escape the sun in Cairo, no matter where you were. His freckles were a little more pronounced now than they were initially before he left home. He traced them with his fingers. He wasn’t sure how he felt about them. Sighing, he set the brush back down on the side of the sink. It stayed for only a moment before tipping over and falling on the floor. 

He looked at himself in the mirror indignantly before bending down to pick it up. When he righted himself, he looked back at his reflection and startled violently when he saw a second figure next to him dressed entirely in black.

Izuku inhaled a loud, ragged breath in preparation to shout in alarm, before the darkly dressed intruder slammed his hand over his mouth, throwing back against the wall. Ochako woke with a start, yowling loudly in the corner, her fur standing on end as she hissed, baring her teeth.

Squirming, Izuku struggled to free his mouth, his heart beating out of his chest. The hand covering it moved, only to be replaced by a knife that sunk into his cheek, nearly breaking the skin. “Where is the map?” The man growled. His other hand gripped Izuku by the neck, keeping him shoved up against the wall.

Izuku stuttered. The cloaked intruder was dark skinned, sporting two unusual tattoos on either side of his heavily chafed cheeks. His eyes were dark and unreadable. The blade sunk a little deeper, dangerously close to drawing blood. Izuku’s mind started working in overdrive. “The... The map?” Izuku managed to force out. His eyes glanced over on their own volition to the center table where the map was laying, and the man in black followed his gaze, smiling crookedly when he saw it. 

“And the key?” He grit harshly, his breath hot on Izuku’s face.

Izuku was at a loss. A key? They didn’t have a key - there wasn’t one in the box. He started to panic as the blade started to scrape across his cheekbone. “A...A key? We don’t have a key-” Izuku breathed, his heart beating rapidly. The man in black didn’t seem to believe him, and the hand around his throat started to tighten. Izuku grabbed at the arm, but he wasn’t able to dislodge it. 

Just as Izuku’s vision started to star, his bedroom door slammed open. He nearly went weak with relief when he saw who it was.

“Midoriya!” Bakugou called out, charging through the doorway. His dark red eyes immediately trained on the intruder, and his body visibly stiffened. His hands automatically grabbed the two revolvers that were hanging from his hip holsters. In a blurring motion, The dark man hurled Izuku in front of him just as Bakugou trained his guns, the blade moving to his throat. 

Bakugou’s bared his teeth in a murderous snarl, his eyes narrowing. He didn’t lower his guns. The intruder’s blade pricked Izuku’s skin, and a thin trail of blood ran down his chest. “Shoot, and he dies.” The man threatened, shaking him as he said it. Izuku fought to keep his breathing under control even as the panic started to grip his chest. The cut on his neck wasn’t deep, but it stung. There was a few seconds of standoff before he saw Bakugou’s eyes flick down to the candle on the center table, just as the flame stuttered. One of the side windows opened, letting in a sudden rush of air. 

Another man in black appeared in the opened window, a long gun in his hand. Pivoting, Bakugou shot several times in his direction, and the gunman’s shots went wide as he fell backwards, dead. Izuku flinched at the sudden onslaught of gunfire. He’d seen people shoot before, but never this close; and it was _loud_. Some of Bakugou’s shots had missed, bullet holes marking the interior wall, the wood splintering on impact. A gas lantern near the window shattered when it was struck, falling from its place in a burst of heat, bouncing off of the couch. Kerosene spilled all over the fabric, and it immediately caught fire, the flames billowing upwards and climbing up the wall and ceiling. 

From her spot on the bed, Ochako darted off, a fluffy ball of absolute fury. She went straight for Izuku’s captor - sinking her teeth into his ankle. The intruder shouted in pain, his leg automatically kicking out to try and throw her off. 

Seizing his opportunity, Izuku reached for the candle on the center table, circling his fingers around the stem, and stabbing it backwards behind his head. Izuku had absolutely no idea where he was aiming, but he had apparently hit something; the shouts behind him turned to screams and he was abruptly released. Izuku turned around to see the intruder clutching his right eye, doubled over in pain. They took several wild steps backwards, crashing into the bureau mirror and shattering it. Shock struck Izuku in the chest, and an apology passed unbidden through his lips. Had he just blinded someone?

“Sorry!” Izuku blurted.

A strong hand grabbed his arm and yanked him backwards. “Move!” Bakugou yelled, dragging him away. The fire cast a hot glow on his face, and his eyes reflected the flames.

Izuku blinked rapidly, momentarily derailed, before another hooded figure appeared in the window. Bakugou roughly swiveled the dazed scholar behind him, shooting at the same time the other man did. The sound was even more deafening up close, and shots ricocheted across the room. Izuku yelped, grabbing the back of the Bakugou’s shirt and ducking behind his solid frame as they skirted out of the room. 

Rounding the corner, Bakugou snapped open the barrel of his gun and reloaded. There were shouts echoing across the entire boat now, and the flicker of flames could be seen from the other side of the cruise. Izuku followed closely, abruptly stopping as a realization hit him. He gasped loudly.

“The map! The map! I forgot the map!” He spun back towards the room, stopped only when Bakugou’s arm banded around his waist, revolving him back towards him. He nearly fell into the heat of his chest, and the red flush from before returned with new fury on his cheeks.

“Relax - _I’m_ the map.” Bakugou whipped. He tapped the top of his head with the butt of his gun. “It’s all up here.”

“That’s not really comforting.” Izuku mumbled under his breath. Up close, the soldier smelled like gunpowder and musk, and it made his head swim a little. 

Bakugou’s red eyes narrowed slightly as he wordlessly released his waist only to grip his upper arm, pulling him along behind him. Izuku tripped a little, and when he looked down a touch of panic suddenly hit his chest.

“Wait - she was just here; where’s Ochako?”

\----

Kirishima breathed heavily as he ran through the interior hallway. There were strangely dressed, hostile men that had boarded the boat. The outer decks were already devolving into chaos, with fire having spread on the left side. He had already been shot at a multitude of times, but big brother code dictated he had to get Izuku, and that’s exactly what he was going to do. That and if he returned home without him, he’d be a dead man regardless. Reaching his brother’s room, he found the door was already broken open. Heart pounding, he rounded the corner-

Before a white and brown shadow flitted across his feet.

Kirishima squealed, flying forward as he tripped, smashing into another person in front of him. He quickly recovered, rearing backwards as he threw up both his hands in an impression of a fighting stance. The man he collided into was plowed headfirst into the side couch that was a raging inferno. On impact, the fire exploded outward, and Kirishima had to step backwards as the heat singed his hair. 

When the blaze dimmed down enough, Kirishima was able to turn his head back over, his eyes widening in mute shock as he watched the intruder shriek as his clothes were blown up in flames from the blast. The entire room was quickly filling with thick smoke, and the fire was loud and blinding. Kirishima could hardly see through the smog as it stung and obscured his vision. Through the haze he was vaguely impressed with himself. Setting someone on fire, even by accident, was a first. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the light shadow from before dart past him into the room.

“Ochako?!” Kirishima cried out. Holy shit, that cat was a force of nature. Fearless, she darted to the center table, where she tugged at a book with her teeth, quickly dragging it over to him. Unsure of what else to do, Kirishima pried it from her mouth. It was Izuku’s journal. His brother wouldn’t have willingly left this behind; it was the culmination of all his research and theories. 

A loud shout drew his attention back to the intruder, who whirled towards him. Kirishima quickly sidestepped as he charged him, tripping in his haste and landing on the rug, burning his hands as he slid, the journal nearly falling out of his grasp. A long stream of curses flew out of his mouth as he scrambled to keep his hold on it. If he lost it Izuku would never let him live it down. 

The man was so engulfed in flames he didn’t see his maneuver, and he blindly barreled into the wall behind him. Kirishima began to crawl away on his hands and knees in the most incredibly unmanly fashion - thank god nobody but the cat was here to see it - before a glint caught his eye. Just a few yards away from him, the pentagram shaped box sat on the floor, the fire reflecting on its surface.

“Ah!” Kirishima cried. That couldn’t be left behind either. Nabbing it, he quickly shoved it in his interior pocket. A loud, angry shout sounded behind him and he quickly jumbled to his feet, scooping Ochako up as he went. She hissed in displeasure but didn’t fight him as he bolted out the door, the inflamed intruder in hot pursuit. If Izuku wasn’t in his room he had to be somewhere else on the boat.

\-----

“We can’t just _leave_ without her.” Izuku gasped as he was pulled through the exterior door. 

Bakugou easily hauled him forward, and pushed him against the side of the wall, his attention solely on the scene in front of them. The deck was in utter chaos. Horses and camels were being dragged from their pens, neighing and rearing when they saw the flames. Men were shouting and climbing the boat frame to escape the fire. The men in black appeared to be spreading the flames, with one throwing a torch into the camel pen, effectively lighting the bales of hay like tinder.

“I thought you said she could take care of herself.” Bakugou replied smoothly, cocking the barrel of his gun.

Izuku scowled. Bakugou had auspiciously placed himself right in front of the doorway, preventing him from running back inside. “This is entirely different-”

“It’s not. Hold this.” Bakugou reached down to pick up his duffel bag and tossed it in his direction. Momentarily startled, Izuku caught it on reflex. It was far heavier than he expected, and it knocked out a little of his breath when it hit his chest. “Don’t drop it.” Bakugou smirked, maneuvering to stand next to him. He held the gun up by his head before he whipped it around the corner, firing a few rounds. Clutching the duffel, Izuku wasn’t given the chance to cover his ears, and the sound made his ears ring painfully.

The return fire was immediate and double in intensity - it had to be more than one person, if Izuku was any judge. Bakugou moved back behind cover, reloading bullets into the revolver. The enemy fire didn’t let up, and the wood splintered around them. Izuku flinched at each hit, and found his gaze find its way back to the interior door. If he dropped the duffel, he could go back inside, find Ochako, maybe even grab his journal-

“Don’t even think about it, runt. I’ll knock you out if I have to.” Bakugou growled. Izuku startled, meeting Bakugou’s angry glare. Was he that easy to read? He watched Bakugou warily, a small pit forming in his stomach. The odds of him being able to fight past Bakugou to go back inside were abysmally low, and the reality started sinking in. Maybe he was right, he shouldn’t have brought Ochako. 

Breaking eye contact, Bakugou spun open the revolver and reloaded before snapping it back into place and returning fire after the next flurry. The opposing gunfire was suddenly nonexistent, and before Izuku could process further, he found his arm being grabbed as he was again hauled behind Bakugou as they flitted across the deck.

They reached the railing, and Bakugou glanced over at the water before grabbing the duffel from Izuku’s burning arms. He threw it over his shoulder with ease. “Can you swim?” He asked, looking Izuku in the eye.

“Well, _yes_ , I can swim if the occasion calls for it- but I don’t think-” Izuku cut off with a yelp as his feet were swept out from under him. Bakugou lifted him in a bridal carry, hoisting him up and dangling him over the railing. 

“It calls for it.” 

He promptly dropped him, and Izuku was barely able to process what was happening before the cold bite of water slapped into him. The shock left him drifting deep under the water for a moment before instinct kicked in and he kicked his way to the surface, gasping when his head broke the water. He actually threw him over; he couldn’t believe he actually just _dumped_ him overboard- 

“Heads up!”

A loud, resounding splash hit next to him, crashing into Izuku’s face. Spluttering, he wiped the water from his eyes to see the duffel floating next to him. Izuku looked up at the boat to see Bakugou sneering down at him.

“I can’t believe you just _threw me into the Nile_ -” Izuku started to shout. He stopped when he saw a dark shadow off the boat side - right underneath where Bakugou was standing. His chest tightened and he started to swim after the still moving boat frantically. “Look out!” 

At Izuku’s cry, Bakugou’s smile faltered as he swung backwards to avoid being gutted as the intruder swung over the side with a curved knife. They jumped over the railing in a wide fighting position. Changing pace, Bakugou surged forward and disarmed him in a harsh whirl, twisting their arm the wrong way. The blade skittered across the deck. Blocking a blow to his torso, Bakugou jerked his elbow up and caught the man underneath the chin, stunning him. Grabbing their shirt, he threw him into one of the side pillars with incredible force, knocking them unconscious. 

Steadying his breathing, Bakugou glanced over the railing to see Izuku was still trying to swim after the boat. Trying and completely failing. 

“Head for shore!” He bellowed. The boat was due to sink any minute. The green head bobbed ambiguously in the water. Izuku shouted something back at him, but he didn’t get to hear it. Gunfire rang out around him, and his back automatically sought out the wall for cover. His hand floated above his hip. It sounded like the Americans were still clearing deck. It didn’t matter anyway; the boat was a lost cause and he wasn’t sticking around to risk his neck helping the other crew. It was time to bail.

A hand tapped his shoulder and he instinctively drew his gun, cocking the barrel back. 

“Hold up - don’t shoot.” Kirishima spluttered. He held up his one free hand in mock surrender. In the other, he had Ochako tucked up against his side.  
Bakugou slowly lowered his gun. Kirishima looked a mess. He was covered in smoke residue and his hair was disheveled and singed. “What the hell have you been doing?” Bakugou demanded. 

“Looking for my brother.” Kirishima replied, running a hand through his hair. “Please tell you’ve seen him.”

Bakugou jerked his chin towards the water. Kirishima’s eyes narrowed questioningly as he slowly looked out to where Bakugou indicated. His eyes widened when he saw Izuku’s figure steadily swimming to the shoreline. “Oh gods.”

“If you don’t want to get shot I suggest you do the same.” Bakugou deadpanned. He shouldered past him, knocking his way past a few errant crewman who were shouting and running across the deck, hauling bits of cargo away from the fire. Another hand found his shoulder and he spun to face the warden, whose face was red and slick with perspiration.

“We’re in need of action!” The warden yelled frantically, wiping his brow with his sleeve. “What are we going to do? What are we going to-”

Bakugou grabbed both of his shoulders, holding him steady in front of him. “Wait here, and don’t move.” He said briskly, jabbing a finger pointedly to his chest. “I’ll go and get help.” With that, Bakugou hoisted himself over the railing and dived into the water below. Kirishima would have sworn he saw a glimpse of a sly smile on Bakugou's face.

“Right!” The warden called after him agreeably, nodding to himself. 

Kirishima sped after Bakugou’s vanished figure, leaning over the railing to watch him swim ashore. He made eye contact with the warden, catching on. The soldier was trying to ditch the warden. “I’ll uh… go help him get help.” He said tentatively. He scruffed Ochako, holding her stiffly to his chest. Oh, she wasn’t going to like this. And if her yowls were any indication, she knew just exactly what he was about to do.

Taking a few wide steps back, Kirishima made a running leap to the rail before throwing himself over, crashing headfirst into the water. A few seconds later he broke the surface. 

Ochako bolted out of the water like a demon, flying out of his grip and clawing her way up on the top his head. “Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!-” Kirishima cried out. She sunk her nails onto either side of his forehead, frozen in place as he drifted. Water cascaded down from her long, sopping wet fur and further blinded him. “Alright, alright, just stay there don’t claw my face, please.” He pleaded. He started swimming after Bakugou to the shoreline, careful not to further jostle Ochako from his head. 

Izuku was already waiting for them at the bank, his arms crossed around his chest as he huddled into himself. He was still dripping wet, his nightclothes clinging to him like a second skin. The duffel bag lay next to him, wet and sandy from how he half dragged, half carried it over to where they ended up.

Bakugou reached the shoreline, and waded out noisily, the water splashing around his legs as he cleaved through. He took the duffel strap from Izuku, who was now shuddering from the chill. He eyed him carefully before abruptly looking away. “How deep is that cut?”

Izuku shakily looked up at him. “Cut? What-?” His hand automatically found the wound on his neck, and he rubbed it absently. “Ah, no. It’s not deep, I’ll be fine.” When he pulled away his fingers though, they came back red. He blinked rapidly. Was it still bleeding?

“The water kept it from closing.” Bakugou huffed. He threw the duffel back on the ground and gripped the hem of Izuku’s shirt. Before he could say anything, he ripped a large strip off of the bottom in a single jerking motion.

“ _What are you doing?!_ ” Izuku yelped, pulling away. 

Wordlessly, Bakugou rung it out, getting rid of the excess water. He then folded the fabric several times. He grabbed Izuku’s arm and pressed the cloth into his hand before pushing it up against his neck. “Hold this against it for fifteen minutes.” He clipped. His tone didn’t leave room for a reply. Turning heel, he retrieved the duffel bag from the ground and again threw it over his shoulder, keeping his back to him.

Izuku pressed the cloth against his neck. “Thank you.” He said softly. Bakugou didn’t reply, instead heading to the waterline to watch Kirishima struggle ashore. Izuku bit his lip. Was he going to ignore him now? Looking around Bakugou’s figure, he caught sight of his brother's head.

“Ochako!” Izuku cried out, rushing over. She was quick to jump off of Kirishima’s head, landing in his outstretched arms. “Oh, thank the gods. I thought you were still on the ship.” He murmured gratefully, stroking her back. She looked half drowned, her long fur heavy and dripping liberally. He seldom saw her in this state; past all of the traumatizing experiences he had trying to give her a bath. 

“Oh yeah, don’t worry I got off just fine.” Kirishima chimed in sarcastically, ringing out his shirt. “I’m sorry to make you worry.”

Izuku gave him a sheepish grin. “You too, Kirishima. Thank you for getting Ochako.”

Kirishima hummed agreeably. “That’s not all I saved.” He reached into his interior coat pocket. “I can’t guarantee the water didn’t get at it, but this pocket clips shut, so hopefully it’s not too bad.” He pulled out the journal. It was indeed wet, but not ruinously so. Izuku excitedly took it, settling Ochako to perch on his shoulder. He flipped through the damp pages. Most of what he wrote could be salvaged, as luckily he wrote in pen instead of pencil and the ink had not badly run. He grabbed the binding and fanned it outwards to help dry it.

“This is fantastic, but…” Izuku looked out to the Nile, where the barge was already halfway sunk into the river. “We’ve lost _everything_. All of our tools, the equipment….” He paused, his excitement visibly deflating. “All of my _clothes_.”

“Speaking of uh… clothes, Izuku…” Kirishima started hesitantly, looking him over. He dipped out of his coat and shook it out, water still falling from it. He offered it to him. “Take this.”

“Why?” Izuku questioned, accepting it slowly. He looked speculatively down at his nightclothes. If his cheeks had been red before, it was nothing compared to how they ignited now. The water had made the fabric startlingly translucent, and it was clung tightly to him, his skin on full display. His chest and legs may as well have been bare; the only thing actually covering him were his light green boxers.

Mortified, Izuku gasped loudly, rushing to pull the wet coat over him. Ochako was forced to jump from his shoulder, landing lightly in the sand by his feet. After a good amount of fumbling, he fastened it around him. “Gods, this night couldn’t get any worse.” He whimpered, gripping the coat tightly around him. Ochako rubbed herself against his calf reassuringly.

“I think it can.” Bakugou said cleanly, moving in front of him. Loud splashing drew Izuku’s attention, and he had to peer around Bakugou’s figure to see what it was. Sure enough, the warden was making his way up the bank. He didn’t look very happy.

“Wait and get help? _Wait and get help?_ ” The warden shouted angrily, waving his fist as he struggled to charge through the knee deep water. “I ought to have left you on the rack, you _filthy criminal_ -”

“Looks like the stupid bastard actually worked it out. Pity.” Bakugou said calmly under his breath. He turned to face the warden as he finally worked himself out of the river, but kept in front of Izuku, blocking him from view. He threw up his hands in a half hearted, questioning motion as he smirked. “Why didn’t you wait?” He drawled, loud enough for the warden to hear. 

“I’m going to _kill you, sakhif alnadhl!_ ” The warden hissed, whipping his hands out at his sides in a hopeless attempt to dry them. 

“Wait, please.” Izuku said quickly, moving to stand between them. “This is bad enough as it is without us fighting-”

Bakugou whirled on him then. “ _Fifteen_.” He said sternly, glaring at him pointedly.

Izuku balked. “Fifteen…?” He was lost for a moment before he glanced down at the slightly bloodied cloth still clutched his hands. “Oh-” He pressed the makeshift bandage back against his neck, wincing only slightly when the laceration stung in response. 

Bakugou turned back towards the warden. “I’d like to see you try. I’d put you on your ass, first swing.”

The warden’s face turned a dangerous red, despite the cold. If Bakugou kept goading him, they’d have a fight on their hands. Izuku moved forward again, reaching out to place a restraining hand on Bakugou’s arm. The peacekeeping words he was about to preach were suddenly lost when a thin, reedy voice called out from across the river. 

“Hey, Bakugou!”

The four of them all turned towards the sound, spotting the rest of the boat’s occupants on the other side of the river. Camels and horses were being pulled away from the shoreline, large bags and crates thrown over their backs. Men were hauling the little cargo they could save out of the water and over the hill line. Next to the bank was a short, thin, sleazy looking character waving wildly at them. He cupped his hands to his mouth.

“Bakugou!” He bellowed, motioning to the people around him, “Looks to me like I’ve got all the horses!”

Bakugou strode up to the waterline, a sneer lighting up his face. “Hey Mineta!” He yelled, “Looks to me like you’re on the wrong side of the fucking river!”

At that, Mineta’s smile fell as he looked back at the burning wreckage of the barge, almost completely sunk into the river depths, then turned to look at the landscape behind him. Though it wasn’t audible, it looked like he cursed vividly, kicking the sand at his feet in anger. The men moving around him gave him a wide berth, staring as he threw his small fit. The Americans looked to have made it as well; the blonde haired one equally as soaked as the rest of them, an angry scowl on his face. He marched up to Mineta and started yelling something at him, the words just low enough that they were unintelligible from the other side of the river.

Bakugou let out a low chuckle, smirking. “Fucking idiot.” Being on the wrong side gave them an incredible head start. It would take at least a whole day for the other party to find another way across, which bought them enough time to regroup and get new mounts.

Kirishima turned questioningly towards Bakugou. “What? Can’t they just swim back over to the right side?”

“Their camels likely won’t let them.” Izuku piped in, still shuddering from the cold. He ran his hands up and down his sleeves in an attempt to warm up. “While camels can surprisingly swim, they aren’t very keen on it. It’d take more time to move them back over then than it would to find another way across.” He remembered the information from Aizawa, who had been discussing travel by camel back with another visiting archaeologist. The man hadn't believed him when Aizawa said camels were fickle, stubborn creatures, and several months later the archaeologist had returned with a particularly nasty bite scar on his right shoulder. 

The warden kicked the sand angrily, muttering a few choice curses in Arabic. “I paid for some of those camels.” He fumed, watching them haul away.

Laughing, Kirishima nodded sagely, reaching over to pound Bakugou good naturedly on the back. “Another way across, huh? Looks like our five hundred is still within reach.”

Bakugou’s previous smile dimmed drastically. “Did I miss something? Were you the one who made the bet?” He snapped.

Undeterred, Kirishima motioned to the four of them enthusiastically. “This is all a team effort, isn’t it?” He smiled broadly. "'All for one, one for all' kind of deal?"

Bakugou looked incredulous, shaking head in disbelief. “Did you actually do _anything_ fucking useful just now?”

Aghast, Kirishima looked pointedly at Ochako. “I saved Izuku’s journal! And Ocha!”

“I’m sorry, _you saved the fucking cat_ -”

“Boys, _please_.” Izuku cut in loudly. “We need to find an alternate means of transportation if we have a hope of getting anywhere.” Ochako shook herself out at his feet, spraying them all with a fresh burst of water. He shuddered at the thought of running into more of the hooded men. They had no way of knowing if there were still some lurking close by.

Bakugou folded his arms across his chest, letting out a harsh puff of air. “There’s a Bedouin outpost not far from here where we can get supplies.” He scoped out the horizon for a few brief seconds. “We can reach it in just a few hours if we start moving now.” He asserted. It would be far easier to move on foot at night. If they waited until the daytime, not only would they lose time, but then they would have to face the heat as well.

“Well there’s no reason for us to stay.” Izuku said, reaching down one handed to lift Ochako back into his arms. “We should head out now.” He went over to Bakugou’s side, following his line of vision and starting towards it. After a few paces he looked back to see if anyone was following. “If that’s agreeable.” he added, noting nobody had moved.

Kirishima only briefly hesitated before following suit, glancing briefly at Bakugou as he passed, motioning for him to lead the way. 

With a scowl, Bakugou pushed past him to outpace Izuku, and the four of them headed off into the desert, the warden muttering angrily from the back.


	6. Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bedouin haute couture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope someone knows what's going on 'cause I sure don't

Izuku slept soundly, exhausted and dreamless. The mat he was sleeping on was far from comfortable, but he didn’t care. They had trekked for hours last night, wet and cold. When they had finally reached the outpost Izuku was beyond cognitive thought, collapsing on the first surface that was presented to him. Ochako lay curled up next to his stomach, having finally dried and returned to her usual fluffy state. She had walked a good portion of the distance herself once Izuku had started to tire, following behind his heels at a leisurely pace.

Izuku’s eyes were stung by a sudden onslaught of light, and he groaned, rolling over on the thin mat. His arm instinctively folded over his eyes to shield them. 

“Time to get up, Izuku. We’ll be leaving soon.” Came a gentle voice.

Izuku groaned in response. He couldn’t have slept for more than a couple of hours. “Five more minutes…” He mumbled softly into his sleeve. Just five more. He’d get up in five. Definitely.

A hand gently shook his shoulder, and Izuku inhaled deeply, turning over to see Kirishima hovering over him. He blearily rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, subconsciously reaching to pet Ochako, as though to assure himself she was still there. “What time is it?” Izuku moaned, yawning deeply.

“Not sure. Early.” Kirishima responded, smiling down on him remorsefully. “But you still need new clothes. The local traders have just started opening their stalls, so once we get our supplies and rides we’ll be heading out.”

So soon. But that was probably for the best. Izuku nodded mutely, sitting up. He stretched his arms up over his head, letting himself yawn deeply one last time before finally rolling over to stand up. Ochako got up as well, stretching her back in typical cat fashion before shaking herself out and exiting the small tent they had slept in. It was pretty tight; the only real purpose for it was to sleep. 

Izuku followed Kirishima outside, squinting his eyes at the soft light. The sunrise was still young enough for it to be slightly dimmed, the horizon a beautiful glow of light blues and oranges. The sand dunes looked like they were covered in a thin mist. The outpost was already thrumming with activity, with stalls open and busy. Most of the men’s voices were low and quiet in lieu of the hour; but others were full throatedly laughing and chatting amiably in the distance. Camels hung their heads sleepily next to their posts on the outskirts, fully saddled and equipped. A few men hung by their heads, offering tussels of hay to the sleeping giants. 

Izuku glanced down at his clothes. They had dried and were no longer completely see through, but the bottom hem of his shirt was partially ripped off, and there was no saving it. Izuku casually reached up to touch the wound on his neck. It had stopped bleeding last night and was now lightly scabbed over. He was grateful he was able to stop the bleeding but… his expression soured. He had loved these nightclothes.

“Here.” Kirishima said, handing him a clip of bank notes. “I’ll trust you to go get clothes on your own.”

Izuku smiled up at him. “On my own? If I didn’t know any better I would say you’re deliberately trying to avoid going into another marketplace with me.” He teased, plucking the bills from his hand.

“That is _exactly_ what I am doing.” Kirishima laughed, ruffling his hair. “I’m going to go help our trigger happy companion find someone willing to part with their camels.” He leaned down and scruffled Ochako’s hair as well; but she didn’t take as kindly to it, swiping at his hand to get him to stop. Kirishima merely laughed, wagging a finger at her. “No more chicken, Ocha, you hear?” 

She stuck her nose up indignantly and trotted away. Izuku laughed and jogged to keep up with her, waving to Kirishima over his shoulder. “I’ll keep an eye on her!” He promised. Kirishima waved back cheerily, walking back over to the outskirts.

Ochako strode at a happy, measured pace in front of him, wandering into the thick of the stalls. Izuku felt his eyes wander as they passed a whole assortment of goods. It was a little different from the Cairo marketplace; everything here was more rugged and simple. Tea and coffee was lain out in large woven baskets, sold by the pound. Clothes were hung out on long strings between tent posts, and ornamental pom pom lanterns warmly lit the shop interiors. Most of the articles for sale were displayed on intricate rugs instead of tables, and shopkeepers sat cross legged on brightly laced pillows, at ease as they chatted pleasantly in their language. Eyes drifted over Izuku’s unusual appearance, but the locals didn’t stare; instead offering kind smiles as he passed by. 

Ochako finally came to a stop, her nose drifting curiously over a basket of dried herbs that were partially covered by a colorful hand woven rug. Izuku followed up behind her, mirroring her interest as he crouched down to feel the dyed wool sewing spools that lined the shop. Behind the layout was a dimly lit tent lined with a series of different clothes, stitched in an assortment of Bedouin styles. Inside was a short, conservatively dressed woman. She noticed him and walked over, partially bending down to greet him.

“ _Musaeada?_ ” She said politely, tilting her head towards him.

Izuku looked up, smiling remorsefully. He motioned hopelessly at his mouth to indicate he couldn’t speak the language. He couldn’t see the lower part of her face because of her black veil, but her eyes seemed to pinch up in an understanding smile, and she crouched down, pointing her hand questioningly at his attire.

“Ah, it was destroyed.” Izuku explained. He knew she wouldn’t know what he meant, so he racked his head for the proper word in Arabic. “ _Damar?_ ” He attempted, cringing at his pronunciation.

The woman’s head nodded in understanding, and she indicated towards the line of clothing behind her. 

“Oh, yes. _Nem fielaan._ ” Izuku said brightly. He followed the woman into the tent, pausing in front of the hanging clothes as the she procured a long line of thread. Stepping around him, she strung it out along his shoulders and both of his arms in a few quick motions. Izuku watched curiously. It looked like she was taking his measurements. Murmuring to herself, she bundled up the thread in her hands and turned to the line of clothing, occasionally glancing over at him. 

Beneath him, Ochako drifted over to his legs, butting into them softly before settling herself down on a pillow nearby. He looked down at her fondly before the woman made a pleased noise. She motioned him forward, pulling down a black set of garments, and presenting them over her arm. It looked to be a long sleeve, thin material shirt paired with loose fitting pants of equal material. It was made to protect from the sun, while being loose enough that the gathered heat on the cloth wouldn’t smother him. 

“ _Shukraan_ \- Thank you.” Izuku said gratefully. The woman smiled and gently pulled him towards the back of the tent, pushing aside a tall hanging tarp that blocked part of it from view. Inside the makeshift room was a small, worn mirror. She tapped on the clothes in his hand and made a show of covering up the makeshift room with the tarp. 

“Oh! You want me to- ah, alright.” Izuku stammered. She wanted him to try them on. Nodding happily, she pulled the tarp aside, giving him privacy. 

Izuku began to unbutton his nightshirt, unhappily looking at the damage. Definitely beyond repair. Setting them to the side for now, Izuku slipped the black shirt over his head. It was a perfect fit. The collar was in the shape of a small V, with two tassels on either side so he could tie them together if he wanted to. It was loose and billowy, but narrowed nicely around his wrists and waist. The pants fit just as well, and folded in them was a decorative two piece coin belt, which hung on his hips. 

He looked at his reflection in the small mirror. He looked quite dashing, if he did say so himself. Grabbing the ruined nightclothes in his hand, he peered back through the curtain to find the woman sitting on a pillow next to Ochako, petting her fur reverently. Ochako was purring soundly, flicking her tail up in greeting when she saw him. The woman followed her gaze and clapped her hands once in happiness when she saw the clothes. 

“ _Jamila, jamila._ ” She echoed, seemingly pleased. From the corner she brought him a pair of dark, intricate leather sandals. Colored tassels hung from the straps in typical Bedouin style. They were a perfect fit as well, and Izuku did an appreciative twirl. He was dressed like a real native now. 

Izuku brought out the clip of bills and offered her a generous amount. “ _Shukraan._ ” He said politely, bowing his head. He had heard stories about the Bedouin hospitality, but it was different to experience it firsthand. ‘Slaughter their last sheep and boil their last grain of rice for a stranger’ was the exact term Aizawa would use when explaining it.The woman accepted the amount, and her eyes crinkled again as she smiled broadly. As he exited the tent, Ochako at his heels, he waved once more, and the woman nodded her head, bidding him farewell and safe journeys in her mother tongue.

Ochako led the way once more, trotting happily back the way they had came. Newly clothed, Izuku felt a little more confident navigating the trading post. Ochako somehow knew where to go, and they walked all the way out of the busy market and towards the camel lot, where he spotted Kirishima and Bakugou arguing with one of the locals, who was clutching the reins of four camels.

“ _How_ much? For these fleabags?” Kirishima exclaimed, waving his arms vividly.

“Just fucking pay him so we can get the hell out of here.” Bakugou grit.

“It’s robbery.” Kirishima muttered, harshly counting out the bills. He reluctantly handed them to the man, whose frown turning into a beaming grin. “Oh yes, see, of course he’s happy.” Kirishima complained, taking the reins. He looked up and saw Izuku approach, and his face immediately changed. “Looking good, Izuku.” He complimented.

“The shopkeeper was very helpful.” Izuku smiled. He glanced over and saw Bakugou’s expression, and his heart skipped a beat. The blonde was unashamedly looking him down, flexing his arms as he crossed them across his chest.

“Better.” Bakugou said simply, abruptly turning and grabbing one of the camels.

The words echoed in Izuku’s head. Better? Just… Better? He almost missed it when Kirishima handed him his set of reins. What did better mean? 

“Need help mounting, Izuku?” Kirishima asked, peering around the camel’s chest.

“No, I think I’ve got the general gist.” Izuku replied, still a little thrown. He couldn’t pinpoint the feeling of disappointment in his chest. “Up we go, Ocha.” He said, lifting her to the saddle. When she jumped up, Izuku noticed a flash of color around her neck. Curious, he reached up and smoothed over her fur, revealing a beautifully woven collar with an intricate mesh of designs and small multi dyed tassels. Izuku breathed in delight. The woman had done more than help him choose an outfit; she had gifted Ochako something as well. As though sensing Izuku was admiring her new collar, Ochako raised her chin up to proudly display it, tail flicking contentedly.

“Still doing good?” Kirishima called again, his voice muffled. He had started mounting his own camel on the other side.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Izuku assured, peering skeptically at the saddle. Camels were incredibly tall creatures, the mere base of their neck standing at the shoulder height of most average sized men. Izuku faced that dilemma now; even if he swung his leg high up, reaching the saddle stirrup would be no sure thing. He bit his lip. “Do they kneel?” He asked, suddenly unsure.

From next to him, Bakugou rode over to watch him, already mounted. He scoffed, smirking at him. “Kneel?” 

“Yes, kneel.” Izuku repeated, his cheeks starting to flush, “Some of them kneel so it’s easier to mount.”

“Do you want me to help?” Kirishima asked again, pulling his own camel around.

Izuku made eye contact with Bakugou. The man’s smirk held a challenge in it, and Izuku’s cheeks suddenly flared in determination. “I’m quite capable.” He clipped, gripping the saddle edge. In a single, powerful jump, he launched himself upwards, his foot barely clipping the stirrup. He scrabbled with his other hand to grip the top, but it fell a little short, and he found himself in mounting limbo as he hung precariously off the side. He heard Bakugou snicker behind him.

“Izuku…” Kirishima started worriedly.

“I’m fine.” He grunted, straining his muscles. He was so close. Ochako watched helplessly from the top, sitting on the saddle bags. Slowly but surely, Izuku hoisted his stomach over the top, spinning himself to face forward in an incredibly ungraceful fashion. His arms felt like they were on fire. “See?” He said breathlessly, staring Bakugou down. “More than capable.”

Bakugou only snorted. “For the record…” He nodded his head towards the last camel. Izuku looked over to see that the beast was slowly kneeling, settling on the ground. His mouth fell open as he watched the warden maneuver himself in the saddle, clicking his tongue to make it stand again. Izuku looked angrily at Bakugou, who only sneered. “They _do_ kneel.”

“I can’t believe you just made me _climb up the side_ -”

Bakugou only laughed, whipping the reins on either side of his camel to urge it forward. “I didn’t _make_ you do anything. Now let’s move out.”

Izuku had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from snapping back as Bakugou led the way into the open desert. Kirishima gave him a soothing expression as he trailed behind him. Sighing, Izuku mimicked Bakugou’s movement, whipping the reins on either side of the camel. After a few seconds of disgruntled groaning, it followed, and Izuku was momentarily distracted with moving his hips in the correct fashion. He had taken a few horse riding lessons when he was younger, but the feel was different. He didn’t notice the warden had rode up next to him until he spoke.

“First time on a camel?” The warden asked pleasantly, riding slowly next to him.

“On a camel, yes. But I’ve ridden before.” He explained. Ochako briefly rubbed against his back, and he turned over to see that she was wedging herself between the saddle blankets to nestle away from the sun, opening her mouth to yawn slightly. Izuku found himself suddenly jealous that she would be able to sleep the whole ride.

“You should come back to my place once this is said and done.” The warden continued, “I have many camels.” He grinned widely, showing his teeth. “I will teach you how to ride.”

Izuku suddenly felt awkward, unsure of how to politely turn him down. The warden’s smile was a little lecherous, and it reminded him of the one he saw in the prison. “Thank you for your offer, but I wouldn’t want to impose…”

“No imposition.” the warden dismissed, waving his hand. “It would bring me pleasure.”

Caught between a rock and a hard place, Izuku internally sighed, defeated. “Perhaps I will visit then.” He conceded. In front of him, Izuku caught a glimpse of Bakugou’s face. The man had turned slightly in his saddle to watch them, his expression holding a kind of deadly stillness that was profoundly unsettling. Desperate to shift the conversation, Izuku addressed him. “What about you, Mr. Bakugou? You seem comfortable in the saddle.”

His gaze narrowed. “Of course I am.” He snapped, whipping his head forward again. “Everybody who lives in this fucking sandtrap knows how to ride.”

“I’ve avoided it.” Kirishima piped in, looking down disdainfully at his camel. “They’ve got wicked temperaments.”

“Well _I_ like them.” Izuku countered. “They just need a firm hand is all.” He leaned down to fondly pet his camel’s neck. 

“You won’t have that opinion in a few hours. We’ll be riding straight through today and tonight if we’re going to get there before sunrise.” Bakugou warned, his tone harsh.

The warden spat out a number of choice expletives as Kirishima groaned exhaustedly. “No rest for the weary, it seems.” Kirishima lamented. “But it still beats walking.”

\----- _Desert, Night_

Bakugou glanced down, pulling a small watch out of his bag. In terms of hours, they had been traveling for close to a day now. The night provided much needed relief from the sun and heat, and the moon was nearing its full cycle, adequately lighting the way. The sun would rise in about six hours, but they were making good time. He set the watch back into his bag, snapping it shut. 

At some point, Izuku’s camel had matched pace with his, and Bakugou looked down at the resting scholar’s face. The runt had somehow managed to fall asleep in the saddle shortly after the sun went down, head bowed forward in exhaustion. Behind him, he could hear the obnoxiously loud snores coming from the warden, who was sleeping with his head thrown back, mouth wide open. The man was intolerable awake and asleep. Kirishima was riding next to him, his eyes painfully half open. Every now and again he would emit a groan to announce he wasn’t quite dead yet.

Bakugou was nowhere near asleep. He was wide awake, alert. He watched the landscape around them diligently, his gun within reach, ready to fire. They were being followed. He knew that with absolute certainty. 

Izuku stirred next to him and his gaze shifted. The brat was starting to fall out of his saddle. Leaning over, as close as they were, Bakugou placed a steadying grip on his arm to keep him from falling off. His skin was soft and pliable under his fingers. Izuku didn’t seem to notice him, easily shifting back into an upright position, his head still bowed in sleep as he mumbled wearily under his breath. 

He took the chance to stare. This should just be a job to him. A debt that he needed to repay. Why should he fucking care other people were flirting with him? That fucking warden. He’d nearly lost his temper earlier, when he overheard the bastard inviting him to his house to ride camels. It wasn’t his fucking concern, and yet a curl of heat ignited in his chest anyway, his head screaming at him to turn around and-

Bakugou growled, frustratingly running a hand through his hair. Looking towards the dunes to the west, he spotted them again. The men that were following them. They looked to be the same kind people who had wiped out his garrison all those months earlier, but it was difficult to tell from the distance. He couldn’t risk pulling out a spyglass either; if it was mistaken for a gun they would likely shoot first. For now, though, they appeared to just be following.

If they made a move, he’d be waiting.

\------------------------ _Early morning, before sunrise_

 

“I can’t feel my ass.” Kirishima moaned. “I don’t think it’s there anymore. Please, Izuku, tell me it’s still there.”

“It’s still there.” Izuku assured. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but he couldn’t feel his ass either. He felt with certainty he just had to be bruised. The gentle swaying of the camel was relaxing at first, but each swing quickly turned painful, and he started to dread each one. The cloth on his legs had protected him from most of the chafing, but it did little to ease the saddle. The one good thing was that it did help alleviate some of the sun’s heat. A day in the desert sun was scorching, and poor Ochako hadn’t moved from her safe spot of shade within the saddlebags all day yesterday, occasionally popping her nose out of the side to sniff the air. Now that it was early morning, she lounged on the top, enjoying the cool breeze while it lasted.

“If I hear you complain one more fucking time we’re going to have a problem.” Bakugou shot, snapping his head over to glare at him.

“Well forgive me if we all don’t have titanium cheeks like you do.” Kirishima grumbled under his breath, laying dramatically over his camel.

“You mentioned that we needed to be here before sunrise. Why is that?” Izuku asked curiously. If that was the case then they should almost be there. His heart lifted at the possibility of getting down and stretching his legs.

“You’ll see.” Bakugou said simply. They reached the top of the dune they were trekking on, and he squinted over in the distance. He scoffed, cursing under his breath. “Looks like we’ll have company.”

Izuku followed his gaze and saw that they would indeed have company; moving steadily was a large group of mounted horses and straggling camels, all carrying a variety of men and boxes. Most of them were wearing white garb and were most likely hired help, but Izuku could vaguely see a few of the men were dressed in a different style. From the distance it was difficult to discern, but he could only assume it was the Americans.

“It looks like your friend and the rest of the ship found another way across.” Izuku smiled regretfully. Looks like they wouldn’t have first call on the ruins.

“Mineta is _not_ my fucking friend. And it doesn’t matter.” Bakugou spat, pointing to the sunrise. “We’ve still got another half hour before the sun breaks over the horizon. We’re just in time.” With that, he whipped either side of his camel, heading down to meet them. 

As they approached, the blonde American tipped off his hat, grinning widely. “Looks like you made it after all. Was beginning to worry.” 

Bakugou didn’t respond, coldly turning to face the dunes as dawn approached. 

Kirishima came up from behind, quick to politely fill the silence. “Izuku, let me introduce you.” He gently motioned to the blonde American, “This is Neito Monoma, he’s leading their expedition. The tall one is Antonin Dovchenko, and the short one next to him is Walter Donovan.” 

Izuku nodded to each of them in turn. The fourth man who was wearing glasses rode directly next to him, reaching his hand out to shake it. Izuku only briefly hesitated to accept it. “And I’m Iida Tenya.” He said stiffly, his smile sterile. “I’m their Egyptologist and general historian on this journey.” 

Izuku perked up at that. “Iida, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Where did you study?” 

“UA University. I’ve still got some schooling left, but I figured another few adventurous outings would help with my final thesis. Especially if this turns out to be the real thing.” He adjusted the glasses on his nose confidently. “This will help rocket my career.”

Izuku was immediately bursting with questions. His father had attended UA, sure, but meeting an active student was wholly different, and a dream come true. “If I may ask, what is your final thesis about?”

“The All Might Era.” Iida answered matter-of-factly. “Much of that time period is still vastly shrouded in mystery. The true names of the pharaohs have been long lost to time, and some of their supposed achievements we’re still unable to explain with sound science.”

Izuku nodded vigorously, his spirit soaring at the prospect of meeting another enthusiast. “What is truly interesting is the way with which they’re spoken of. In all the text I can find, the pharaohs of this land are all spoken of having one single identity; shared through each generation. The third pharaoh of the 19th dynasty is the last individual spoken of to inherit this honor. The rest of the names have been struck from time. Carved out from every inscription-” Izuku hurriedly pulled his journal out from his pack, leaning over towards Iida, flipping through the pages. 

Iida’s smile turned suddenly sincere. “It’s good to know as an intellectual I’m not alone in this particular venture. Have you been able to study the initial 19th dynasty paintings? In the first period we were examining the lost royal letters-”

Izuku was practically buzzing now. “Yes!” And even here, with the carvings that were discovered just last year, the name of the pharaoh previous to All Might was struck; but in the scene depiction the context indicates-”

“That they were murdered.” Izuku and Iida finished at the same time. They both looked at each other excitedly.

“Alright, alright, break it up.” Kirishima voiced, massaging his forehead. “I’m an unwilling recipient of knowledge. I can only take so much history at a time.”

“It’s a wonder how you managed to survive growing up in our household.” Izuku teased, dutifully tucking his journal back into his bags. 

“A shining example of my fortitude.” Kirishima supplied.

“Shut up, all of you.” Bakugou barked. “It’s time.”

Sure enough, Izuku saw the sun just start to peek over the horizon. Shadows pulled back like a veil, light breaking over the sand in a bright wave. In the distance, the light seemed to shimmer, or was it…? Izuku squinted, unable to process what he was seeing. The shimmering air darkened until it breathed form, like a mirage, but not yet tangible. Izuku watched in amazement as it slowly solidified, until it gained a concrete shape. 

“Hamunaptra…” Izuku breathed.


	7. Hamunaptra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter summary?
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BJ0xBCwkg3E&t=

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I own 11 parrots  
> \---  
> My feelings towards this chapter are lukewarm
> 
> like the kind of lukewarm where you could technically make tea with it
> 
> but you really wish the water was a couple degrees hotter  
> \---  
> Real talk though - I read every single comment, I fucking love 'em

Everything started happening all at once.

“I’ll see you and that five hundred at the city, Mr. Bakugou.” Neito shouted, grinning wickedly. His horse started to prance underneath him, and he spurred it into motion, galloping straight for the ruins.

Bakugou’s response was immediate and brutal, whipping his camel with unnecessary vigor to quickly follow. The two hit neck and neck. The race was on. 

Izuku only briefly hesitated, reacting mostly on instinct when he saw them gun off, quickly clicking his tongue and squeezing his heels to regain the few seconds of lost ground. He had almost forgotten there was a bet riding on who got there first. Part of him was remiss that he couldn’t have taken a moment to document and sketch how the city had revealed itself in the morning light, but his other half was exhilarated at the prospect of a competitive race. The rest of the company seemed to realize what was going on, and Izuku saw Mineta harshly kicking his horse to force it into a breakneck gallop. In a matter of seconds, the air was filled with the sound of thundering hooves and shouts. 

The pain that the saddle had been causing him was almost entirely forgotten as they sped across the desert. Izuku’s camel bounced in long, drawn out strides, quickly gaining back the distance. Horses and camels could travel at roughly the same speed, depending on the individual animal’s strength, but horse hooves weren’t designed to deal with sand, whereas camels were. 

Izuku could see the difference even now as Neito slowly lost his ground, cursing as he did so. At this rate, Bakugou would get there first.

Mineta was galloping close behind him, and as though he were reaching the same conclusion, he jerked his horse to the right hindleg of Bakugou’s camel. With a conniving smile, he reached for Bakugou’s saddle buckle. 

Before Izuku could even shout out in warning, Bakugou jerked halfway out of his saddle to sieze Mineta by the shirt collar, lifting him out of his seat before throwing him back down. Mineta landed short of his horse, rolling over the back before faceplanting powerfully into the ground with a pained cry. 

Izuku couldn’t stop his short laugh as he saw Mineta splutter out a mouthful of sand behind them. “It serves you right!” He called out. Karma was a cruel mistress. 

Neito had fallen back incredibly far now, just a few strides away from where the rest of the company was straggling. Kirishima and the other camel riders led in front of the horses, but had begun too late to catch up to them. It was just Izuku and Bakugou now.

Seized by the thrill, Izuku squeezed his heels even tighter, leaning his body a little lower and concentrating on following the camel’s movements with his hips. He felt his camel move a little bit faster, lengthening its strides until they were neck and neck with Bakugou. Izuku chanced a glance up, and couldn’t help but smile broadly when he saw his incredulous expression.

Laughing, Izuku urged his mount even faster until he was far ahead, Bakugou several yards behind him. Hamunaptra was just seconds away from them now, and Izuku turned into the ruins, glancing behind the dilapidated front walls. 

It was everything he had ever dreamed; simply beautiful. The columns were lined with hieroglyphs, and most of the statues were still decently preserved. The walls were half buried, but they would still be able to determine which buildings were where; and with a few months of digging they would likely even be able to uncover some artifacts and maybe even discern where all of the figures were entombed-

“Brat!- _Midoriya_ \- Watch where you’re _going-_ ”

Izuku barely even had time to process before his camel loudly groaned in sudden protest, full speed halting in front of a fallen column that Izuku had directed it into. The camel’s toes dug into the sand as it threw its neck back, coming just short of the pillar’s edge.

The carried momentum threw Izuku forward, and he flipped over the front of the saddle, clearing the column entirely before rolling gracelessly in the sand, the world a sudden blur of dirt and light. The impact knocked the breath out of him, and he found himself laying on his back, dazed as the new sun warmed his face. The one and only thought that immediately came to mind was a distant memory of Aizawa saying, _‘Camels don’t jump, Izuku’._

A mere second later Izuku felt two harsh hands grip either side of his face, and two vividly red, angry looking eyes bored into his.

“You _fucking idiot_ , what the hell were you doing?” Bakugou snapped. His eyes flicked down to catalogue the rest of his limbs; as though to ensure they were all still facing the correct direction.

Izuku blinked, processing. Bakugou was kneeling in the sand next to him, his camel forgotten a distance away. How did he move so quickly? Something akin to hysteria bubbled up in Izuku’s chest and he found himself laughing. 

“Does this mean I won the bet?” Izuku chuckled, still a little breathless.

A moment later Izuku let out a small whoosh of breath as his head was abruptly dropped back onto the sand, and he squinted to see Bakugou angrily stomping away.

“Wait- Mr. Bakugou-” Izuku called after him, rolling over to get up. Oh - his back twinged a little when he turned. Exhaling slowly, he slowly stood up, groaning as he stretched out his legs. He did a quick inventory as he slowly twisted his torso. It just ached, so hopefully it would only bruise. 

He felt something nudge his shoulder, and he turned to see that his camel had sauntered over.

“So you came to make sure I wasn’t hurt, too?” Izuku crooned, his heart warming at the prospect. He fondly patted its neck, reclaiming the reins. He was still breathing heavy from the rush of adrenaline, and his spill didn’t make the reckless gallop any less fun. Ochako had emerged from her safe spot in his pack, her hair a little wild looking from being tossed about. She watched him intently from her perch, tail flicking absently as she leaned forward to pick up his scent. “I’m alright, Ocha.” Izuku assured her, reaching over so she could sniff his hand. After a few moments, she seemed to agree, gently lowering herself back into his pack. She kept her head poked out so she could continue to watch him.  
The sound of thundering hooves drew Izuku’s attention to the advancing company. Kirishima was the first one to appear around the bend, slowing down to a stop in front of him.

“What, did you go for another swim?” Kirishima joked, “In the dirt this time?”

Izuku looked down to see that he was still covered in sand. Laughing, he started to sweep it off. “I got a little too excited.” He admitted, shaking the grit out of his hair. 

“I share that sentiment.” Kirishima groaned. He stiffly threw his leg over the side of his saddle and slid down, nearly losing his balance as he hit the sand. His knees bent dramatically and he let out a loud hiss. “I’m an old man.” He cried pitifully, “My legs will never be straight again!”

Izuku laughed, reaching over to retrieve his brother’s reins. “I think you’ll be just fine.” He said confidently. “Besides, an old man wouldn’t be much help when it comes to exploring ruins today, would he?”

“Tell that to your Father.” Kirishima said lamely, shuffling around him in an exaggerated fashion. He looked at him disbelievingly. “And what do you mean exploring ruins today? Shouldn’t we set up camp first? Maybe recuperate-”

“Don’t forget,” Izuku cut in, raising a finger, “We’re not the only ones here.” He turned pointedly towards the opposing company. Neito had angrily dismounted his horse, already in the process of shouting at the hired help. The men were hurriedly unpacking the crates, and two appeared to already be setting down poles to make tents. Neito’s expression was pretty terrifying, Izuku mused, but Bakugou easily put him to shame. 

“Alright, point taken.” Kirishima sighed. “But where do we start?”

Izuku hummed, going to his camel’s side. He stuck one foot in the stirrup and pulled himself halfway up to retrieve his journal from his bags. “Just give me one moment, I’ll see what I can decipher.” Plopping back down on the sand, Izuku pulled out his pen and started tapping his lips. First he’d have to sketch the layout of the ruins to determine where the best access point would be to gain entry to the lower chambers; which was assuming that they hadn’t suffered any support issues and caved in years ago; which then the only option would be prioritizing prime locations to unbury, which would then only be possible if he could find marked totems or other statues-

“You’re mumbling again.” Kirishima interjected.

Izuku waved his hand dismissively, clicking his pen and hurriedly scribbling down key notes. He looked up and surveyed their initial surroundings. If the outer wall was here - then the main entrance had to have been… He clicked his tongue as he found the remnants of the building. Humming softly, Izuku circled it, sketching out the wall line. He almost didn’t notice he was being followed until Bakugou’s shadow cast over his journal pages.

“Alright, brat, we’re here. What next?” Bakugou said, his arms crossed loosely across his chest. 

Izuku didn’t answer immediately, peering over his beginning sketches. He looked up again, saluting his hand over his eyes to block out the rapidly heating sun. “Well, first we need to find the best point of access.” Izuku started, his eyes glancing over the surrounding architecture. “If we had more time, I’d want to process the hieroglyphs and statues on the surface first-”

Bakugou looked ready to argue that, and Izuku hurriedly reassured him. “-But of course we’re on a time limit, which means that we need to prioritize prime locations. The most likely place we’ll find The Book of the Living is in the interior, so we should focus on finding a way in.”

Bakugou seemed to ponder that. “I think I know a way in.”

Izuku looked up excitedly. “Then let’s start there.” He glanced over at the camels, where Kirishima was still stretching. The warden seemed to have joined him, still on top of his mount, a sour, exhausted look on his face. Behind him Mineta appeared as well, his face red and still caked in sand. His horse slung forward in a lazy, measured pace. 

“What should we do about the camels?” Izuku asked. Would they have to find a way to tie them up? His camel was still patiently waiting where he had left him, Ochako basking peacefully on his back. 

“We can leave them.” Bakugou answered. “But I wouldn’t recommend you leave any valuables. They may not still be there when you get back.’

Izuku nodded. He wasn’t too incredibly worried- Ochako would watch his things while he was gone. He cupped his hands over his mouth. “Kirishima!” He shouted. His brother looked up at him. “We’re moving!”

Kirishima gave him a distant thumbs up.

“Now show me where this entrance is.” Izuku smiled. 

Bakugou cast one last wary glance at Neito and the rest of his crew. They had almost successfully pitched up a few of their tents by now, and their historian, Iida, was already mapping out the ruins, just as Izuku was. 

Turning his back, Bakugou led them to the center of the city, where Mineta had nearly killed him. It was almost exactly as he last saw it; a towering, stacked building with a black, narrow doorway. He hadn’t had the chance to fully inspect the hieroglyphics then, nor fully appreciate the height until now. Izuku almost skipped over to the entrance, copying the markings with inhuman speed.

“So that means- and this is- which would translate to…” Izuku muttered to himself, tapping his lips with his pen in between markings. 

Bakugou went right up to the door, testing the weight. It wouldn’t budge. Which only made sense, considering he had effectively body slammed it all those months ago to no effect. But maybe Mineta had simply been barricading it. Huffing, Bakufou leaned his shoulder up against it, and seized all of his strength to push, gritting his teeth as his feet ground into the sand. Nothing. Frustrated, Bakugou kicked it.

“Careful.” Izuku said absently, still writing.

Bakugou huffed. “It won’t fucking open.” He backed up, contemplating for a moment before he walked towards it again, pausing to inspect the corners of the door. Maybe there was a mechanism, or some kind of latch they had to push or pull… He ran his hands around the stone, feeling for any kind of indent. After a few seconds he gave up, irritation starting to heat in his chest. His patience was thinning rapidly. He tried pushing it again, shoving his palms against either side of the door as he threw his body weight against it. How the fuck was Mineta able to even close it? The thought of Mineta being able to move it when he couldn’t made his anger flare even higher.

“Have you tried looking for a mechanism? Maybe some kind of latch we have to push or pull?” Izuku said calmly, his eyes still glued on his page.

At Izuku’s words, a loud, livid hiss slipped past Bakugou’s mouth and he harshly ripped a stick of dynamite from his waistbelt. “I’m blowing it up.”

Izuku immediately looked up from his transcription, eyes widening when he saw the TNT in his hands. He grabbed at Bakugou’s arm as he jammed the stick into the sand in front of the doorway, already flicking a match. 

“ _You are absolutely NOT blowing it up!”_ Izuku cried, flitting forward and yanking the dynamite from the ground. Bakugou spun on him, and Izuku quickly held it away, placing a solid palm on Bakugou’s chest to keep him from advancing. Logically, he knew deep down that if Bakugou really wanted to take it from him, he was helpless to stop him; but he held it out of reach nonetheless. “We are not here to _blow up_ priceless artifacts.” Izuku continued, leveling with Bakugou’s furious gaze. There were a few seconds of silence as they both stared each other down, a small battle of wills. Izuku refused to look away.

In a flash, Bakugou lurched forward, grabbing Izuku’s wrist as he yanked the stick from him. “Then _you_ open the door.” He snarled, aggressively reattaching the dynamite to his belt. He crossed his arms expectantly.

Izuku stepped confidently around Bakugou, reassessing the markings. After a few moments, he inhaled deeply. “It’s locked.”

Bakugou started reaching for the dynamite again.

“ _No!-_ ” Izuku gasped, planting himself firmly in front of the doorway. “We will find another entrance; We can’t destroy this door, it’s an important piece of history-”

“Well it’s blocking our way.” Bakugou snapped, reaching to physically move him.

There was a small struggle between the two of them until Kirishima’s voice crashed over them. “Hey, you two! I think we’ve found something!”

Bakugou and Izuku paused in their skirmish. Izuku had both hands braced on either side of the doorway, leaning backwards, feet dug into the ground to keep himself from being pulled away by his waist. Without warning, Bakugou abruptly released him and Izuku fell unceremoniously on his butt. Izuku was about to snap out a complaint, when he realized Bakugou was already heading towards Kirishima, who was peering over something in a hill above them. Sighing, Izuku got up and brushed the sand off of his rear. Well, at least the door was safe for now. He reluctantly followed.

Kirishima beamed when he saw them approach. “Check this out. Looks like a cave in.”

Intrigued, Izuku approached, looking at the hole in question. It certainly did look like a cave in. Though it was nearly pitch black down there, the sides of the hole were brick, which suggested a ceiling, which meant…

“Do we have a lighter, or other kind of light source?” Izuku wondered aloud. He leaned closer to try and get a better look, kneeling down to get a better angle. Resting on his hands and knees, Izuku peered over the edge. Was that a… he couldn’t quite-

A restraining hand gripped the back of his neck collar. Izuku turned his head to see Bakugou scowling down at him. “Am I just going to have to babysit you this whole fucking trip?” He growled. 

Izuku huffed, shaking him off as he stood. “I’m an adult, and can take care of myself.” He said definitively. Bakugou’s eyes narrowed, as though he most certainly had something to say about _that_ , but Izuku was suddenly distracted. 

Laying in the sand close by, his eyes caught something gleaming. He could distantly hear Kirishima say something to everyone in the background, but Izuku didn’t notice, absently bending over to lightly touch the surface of the shining object. It was metal. Excited, Izuku swiped off more of the surface until he found a rim. Grabbing the edge, Izuku pulled it upwards, hauling it out of its sand prison. It was a giant, silver metal mirror. 

“This is amazing!” Izuku breathed, turning it towards everyone. 

“It’s a disc.” The warden said blandly. 

“It’s a mirror.” Izuku corrected, still proudly examining it. “And it’s in _fantastic_ condition.”

“Great.” Bakugou sneered, “Now we can all shave in the morning.”

“That’s _not_ what it’s for.” Izuku said defensively. “You’ll see what I mean here in a few minutes.” Picking it up, Izuku set it down sideways next to the hole entrance. He hummed thoughtfully, staring at a nearby column. “If we have rope, we could lower ourselves down.”

“We have no way of knowing what’s in there.” Kirishima said doubtfully, peeking back over the entrance.

“Well that’s the fun of it, don’t you think?” Izuku beamed, walking over and giving the column a testing push. After a few moments of shoving, he nodded happily. “This should hold.” 

Bakugou sighed, looking the column over. It did seem decently sturdy. “Alright, fine.” He snapped his fingers at Kirishima, who looked up at him with a confused expression. “Go get the rope.”

“What?” Kirishima whined, “Why do I have to get it?”

“Because I told you to.” 

“But-” Kirishima cut himself off when he saw Bakugou’s expression. “I’d be happy to.” He finished, quickly trudging back down towards the camels. 

Izuku tapped his pen against his lips as he watched his brother trek back down the hill. Hamunaptra truly was beautiful. Even more so now that the sun was out. The stone that they had used to build with shone vividly in the sun, and the mix of carving and hieroglyphs were delicately crafted. His father would love this place. Hopefully, when the way here became more accessible, they would be able to open this place up to the public, and a variety of students and scholars alike could come and study its secrets. It was still amazing to Izuku that even despite thousands of years, the city was still so beautifully preserved-

_BOOM!_

Izuku yelped, flinching back as a resounding explosion sounded in his ears. In the distance, he saw a thick plume of smoke rise up from the stacked tower.

“Oh gods…” Izuku breathed, eyes widening.

“They blew up the door.” Bakugou finished, slowly running his hand over his face. “Fucking hell, _I told you-_ ”

“I can’t believe they just-” Izuku stammered. Surely they wouldn’t have- Without thinking, he raced back down towards the tower, which was now surrounded by a cluster of hired men. He nearly lost his footing several times during his descent, and he had to shoulder his way past a few of the larger men to reach the front as they idly chatted and laughed. Neito stood a ways back next to Antonin and Walter, nodding proudly.

“Good work, people.” Neito said, clapping Antonin on the back. He pointed towards the door. “Now tell them to clear out that debree so we can get a move on.”

Izuku stopped in front of the smoldering remains on the carved door. It was in pieces- some parts blown away beyond recognition. The interior of the building had partially collapsed, and the hired men had already started to pick away at it, carelessly tossing the historic stone in every direction. He was in such shock that he almost didn’t notice when Iida slid to a stop next to him, his face a mask of distress.

“You- Why- No- This can’t-” Iida stuttered, clutching both sides of his head in shock. “It’s gone! All of it!” He marched over to Neito, indicating helplessly to the smoking pile of rubble. “How could you have done that?! I hadn’t written down a single glyph - and now it’s destroyed!” Without waiting for a response, he turned, stepping into the thick of the rubble and hopelessly started picking up pieces of the disposed black rock, as though he was intending to rebuild the entire door. Neito stood on silently, his demeanor entirely unruffled.

Izuku watched a little helplessly. The door was gone, yes; but, thank the gods, he had taken the time to sketch it, otherwise the knowledge truly would be lost. He clutched the journal in his hands a little tighter. He had no doubt he’d be helping Iida desperately pick up the remaining pieces if circumstances were different, but as it stood now...Izuku jerked his head up in time to see Neito smiling down at him. He was rolling a toothpick in his mouth, and his eyes held a cocky challenge in them. Izuku consciously tried to give him the best ‘silently fuming’ look he had, but Neito only smiled wider. Fine. If that’s how the Americans were going to play, he was game. With one last despairing look at the tower door, Izuku pushed past the gathered crowd and reluctantly walked back up the hill to where Bakugou was tying the retrieved rope to the thick column.

“We can’t let them get to the book first.” Izuku announced, reaching them. 

Bakugou didn’t look up from what he was doing, but he snorted in amusement. “Had an epiphany, did you?” He drawled.

“I did.” Izuku said, clutching his journal to his chest. “We can’t let them destroy anything else.” He had a sudden, vivid image of the Book of the Living shattered into several pieces, the same as the door. The mental image disturbed him in an incredibly personal fashion, and his heart clenched.

Bakugou finished the knot he was tying, gripping the rope and yanking it backwards to tighten it. “Then we’d better start moving.” He threw the end of the rope over the edge, waiting to hear the sound of it hitting the bottom. The instant the end slapped to the floor, he swung himself over the side, dropping into the darkness.

Kirishima looked down skeptically into the abyss, swallowing deeply. He gave Izuku a small smile, patting him reassuringly on the back. Don’t worry, Izuku, we’ll get there before they do.”

“Next!” Bakugou shouted from below, his voice echoing. 

Kirishima gave Izuku a pleading smile. 

“I’m coming down.” Izuku sighed, gripping the rope between his hands. He hesitated over the edge. He couldn’t see anything down there. 

“Hurry up, brat.” Bakugou shouted from below, shocking him out of his stupor. 

Closing his eyes, Izuku jumped backwards, barely containing a yelp as he was gripped with the sensation of falling. The rope swung wildly back and forth in the darkness when it finally played out, the jerk nearly taking the thick cord from his hands. The only light he had was coming from above, and he could barely see the line in front of him. He hung there until the he balanced out, and his arms started burning from exertion. 

“ _All_ the way down.” He heard Bakugou growl from below him.

Slowly, Izuku started to make his way down the rope, his arms screaming in protest. The process seemed to take forever, and his stamina was rapidly draining. How deep was it? Just when he thought he couldn’t hold on any longer, he felt two strong hands grip his waist, hoisting him off the rope and roughly setting him onto the floor. His eyes vaguely adjusted to the darkness, and he could see the outline of Bakugou’s figure. He breathed a small exhale of relief.

“I guess it’s me next.” Kirishima called from above, his voice slightly faint. Izuku squinted to see his form in the small hole above. So it wasn’t as deep as he had feared. He felt a little silly for worrying. 

As Kirishima climbed down, Izuku took the chance to carefully drift away from Bakugou, waiting as his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. He just needed to find… Ah! With his arms extended, Izuku caught the rim of a metallic disc in the far corner near where the cave in had occured. He had placed the mirror auspiciously from up top, so hopefully, if this worked…

“Midoriya - where did you go?” Bakugou shouted. 

Izuku looked up to see the shadow of Bakugou’s head twisting in every direction, his shoulders drawn back, his body stance alert. “I’m just adding a little light.” He replied. 

Bakugou’s head trained on where his voice had emanated. “The hell are you-”

Izuku spun the disc so it caught the light from the one above, spinning it in a small circle on its pedestal until he got the effect he wanted- instantly, the disc in his hands reflected the light onto a secondary series of the same metal discs that had been lining the once darkly lit room. The series of mirrors, erected on decorative columns, bounced the light back and forth between each other in perfect balance, completely lighting the room. 

“Nothing like an ancient Egyptian trick to brighten up your day.” Izuku beamed, catching the surprised look on Bakugou’s face as he stopped mid sentence.

Kirishima fell to a jumbled heap at the end of the rope, looking around impressively. “Not bad, Izuku.” He laughed. The warden grunted approvingly from the top of the rope as he struggled his way down. 

“Now we’ll be able to see what we’re...doing…” Izuku’s voice faltered as he surveyed the contents of the room. “By gods, this is…” 

“What?” Kirishima questioned, brushing the dirt off of his pants.

“It’s... a preparation room.” Izuku breathed.


	8. Tombs of Anubis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veering a little wildly from the movie here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's just kinda hitting me now how fucking long this fic is going to be
> 
> Someone get me a beer

Bakugou found himself automatically drifting back towards Izuku, his dominant hand resting on his gun belt. 

“Preparation for what?” He asked, looking through the room. There were an assortment of stone slabs that stood along the edges of the chamber. The corners of each table were carved into an army of fearsome designs; rabid jackals, snarling lions and other unrecognizable hybrids that encircled each leg. Letters danced across the edges, and Izuku was already hurrying over to trace the inscriptions with his fingers. The light from the mirrors was adequate, but the way the shadows played out across the creature’s gaping maws were eerily threatening, and Bakugou struggled to quash the urge to pull Izuku away.

“Preparation for entering the afterlife.” Izuku said softly, pulling out his journal. It was amazing how these tables were designed; it was an entirely different style than he was used to. He quickly copied down the markings, before sketching down the diameter of the room.

Bakugou’s hand drifted towards his pistol.

“Not in that way.” Kirishima laughed, squaring a reassuring pat on Bakugou’s back. “This is where they made the mummies.”

Izuku nodded. The walls were lined with colorfully painted depictions of the process. Anubis weighing out someone’s heart against a feather, with Ra and his two wives watching from their thrones. Scenes of boats and winged humans that played out the inevitability of death, and the riches that awaited those who carried their wealth over with them. Izuku wasn’t sure when the cave in had occurred, but there was a decent amount of damage to some of the coloring, which had unfortunately faded over that time. It was still readable, however. 

Izuku smiled to himself fondly as he wrote. The room vaguely reminded him of the arrival room back in Cairo. The lighting was equally dramatic, and there were intricate columns looming in all four corners of the space, just like it. The only real difference was that the chamber was, understandably, incredibly dusty; the motes speckling the rays of light as it slowly filtered through the tomb. 

“What purpose does it serve?” The warden clipped, picking up one of the many embalming pots that were scattered through the chamber. He held it up and looked it over disdainfully. “There’s no treasure here.” 

Izuku gave him a stern look as he roughly handled the jar in his hands. “Some would say knowledge is its own reward.”

“Pah!” The warden snorted, replacing the pot to its former resting spot. 

“You’re welcome to my share of spiderwebs.” Kirishima offered, smiling. The warden angrily waved him off, continuing to scavenge through the remnants of the room.

Izuku was suddenly aware of Bakugou’s presence behind him.

“We’re losing time.”

“Right.” Izuku nodded, sighing as he closed his journal. He’d have to come back after they successfully recovered the book. He stood up and turned, quickly averting his eyes as he came face to face with Bakugou’s chest. “Ah-” Izuku stuttered, ducking around him, “Well, according to Bembridge scholars, at the feet of the statue of Anubis was a secret compartment, which would likely hold the Book of the Living.” 

Bakugou immediately glanced up to the wall mural, his eyes locking with the dilapidated figure of Anubis as he judged the moral worth of the dead. 

“Luckily for us,” Izuku continued, ignoring the faint warmth in his cheeks, “There is a giant statue of Anubis just nearby where the door entrance, uh, _used_ to be.” He turned towards a narrow passageway that was partially hidden, nestled in the far back wall of the room. “That hall should lead us in the relatively correct direction.”

“Ugh.” Bakugou huffed under his breath, “ _That_ thing.”

Izuku looked at him quizzically, but Bakugou didn’t further clarify. Without waiting for anyone, Bakugou confidently ambled his way into the interior hallway, his eyes trailing over the ceiling and floors. Izuku hurried to catch up with him, tucking his journal in his pocket so that it was easily within reach. 

Just when he caught up, Bakugou stopped short, holding his arm out so that Izuku couldn’t move past him. “It’s getting too dark to see.” He said, reaching into his belt. Izuku nodded mutely, squinting his eyes in the growing darkness of the cavern. The light from the preparation room only reached so far in the hallway. He was so distracted that he didn’t see Bakugou harshly rip a torch from a nearby hanging pedestal. The grating crash made him jump, and his hand automatically reached for Bakugou. In a sudden flash of realization, Izuku stopped himself just short of grabbing him, and he quickly snapped back his hand, praying it had gone unnoticed.

Judging by Bakugou’s easy smile, he wasn’t that lucky. 

“Scared of the dark?” He teased, flicking up one of his matches.

“Not at all.” Izuku defended, straightening a little. “Just wary of any possible traps.”

At that, Bakugou’s smile faded a little, and his serious, calculated demeanor returned. “Is that something we need to be looking out for?”

Izuku hummed, retracing the ghosts of their footsteps. “It’s possible.” He admitted, scanning the floor. “Pressure plates, hidden levers, pit spikes…” The list was a decently extensive one, and that wasn't even to mention the local's belief in curses.

“Ladies first.” Kirishima said invitingly to the warden, motioning grandly into the hallway. 

“Stories!” The warden scoffed, shoving past them all. “Meant to scare away thieves and petty grave robbers.”

“Not to pop anything, but isn’t that exactly what we are?” Kirishima laughed.

“We should be alright as long as we-” Izuku looked pointedly at the torch in Bakugou’s hands, “-don’t touch anything.”

Bakugou snorted, lighting it ablaze. The hallway was immediately lit, the shaking flame from the torch filling the dim passageway with a soft, eery glow. Cobwebs clung to the corners of the passageway, the dust set thick on the sand tiles, the walls a gritty limestone. Faint decorative carvings were etched into the trim.

The warden hadn’t waited for the light, already haphazardly bumbling his way through the shaft, blindly following the wall with his hands. Izuku made to start forward as well, but Bakugou quickly stepped in front of him, giving him a sideways glare as he did so. Pursing his lips, Izuku waited for Bakugou to lead the way. 

As they walked in relative silence, Izuku was suddenly struck with the feeling of awe. It hadn’t fully sunk in yet; that they were here, in Hamunaptra. It was just hitting him now, though. He was actually strolling through the hidden passageways of the long lost City of the Dead. A full blown grin crept onto his face.

“What’s got you in a good mood, Izuku?” Kirishima said suddenly, skipping to keep step next to him. “You’re smiling.”

“Why wouldn’t I be smiling?” 

Kirishima grinned. “Well, we _were_ shot at, albeit rather recently-”

“Would you please shut the fuck up about that?” Bakugou snapped. It was all the red haired asshole had talked about on the camel ride.

Kirishima merely shrugged, sharing a secretive smile with Izuku behind his back. “Well forgive me, but I’m not often shot at; the experience is relatively new.”

Humming softly, Izuku gently shook his head. “I’d have to argue with you on that.” He interjected, raising a solid eyebrow. “I’ve met some of the riff raff you call friends. There’s not a devil’s chance they’re not armed in some way or another.”

“Being around guns isn’t the same as being shot at by one.” Kirishima argued. “I’ve never been on the business end of a pistol.” He seemed to pause a moment before his eyes widened considerably. “And for that matter- I’ve never been run at with a _scimitar_ either-”

Bakugou stopped abruptly, and Izuku bumped solidly into his back. It was the equivalent of running into a wall; a flurry of indignant phrases started to flurry in Izuku’s mouth, before he suddenly realized what had caused him to stop:

The _noise_.

“What is that?” Izuku whispered.

Bakugou shot up a warning gesture for him to keep quiet, and Izuku quickly shut his mouth to continue listening. It was a thin, whispery sound- almost like shuffling. It echoed across the cavern halls like a ghost, and was gone just as quickly as it came. If nobody else had heard it as well, Izuku would have just as easily signed it off as his imagination. Dust fell silently from the ceiling in the quiet few seconds that followed. 

Kirishima was the first to break it. “Where did the warden go?” He asked, his tone still hushed. 

Izuku peered around Bakugou’s frame. The heavyset man was indeed gone, and without any trace. No words exchanged, and no sound of footseps to follow either. Izuku placed a steadying hand on Bakugou’s hip, drawing his attention. He peered up questioningly. “Did he really go that far in front of us?” 

Bakugou’s eyes only flicked down on him momentarily before going back to settle on the hallway, which still stretched onwards into the darkness with no signs of stopping. Izuku could feel Bakugou’s body tense under his fingers. 

“That asshole can make his own decisions. We keep moving.” He grit, moving forward again. Izuku didn’t immediately follow, giving his brother a worried glance over his shoulder. He wouldn’t miss the warden’s company, but still. Kirishima seemed to sense his hesitation, and he gave him a reassuring smile. After a few moments of consideration, Izuku nodded, and they trekked on. The man would have to be responsible for finding his own way back if the halls split and he got lost. Worst case, they could go looking for him later, when less was on the line.

The passageway seemed to go on forever; the stone and the carvings unchanging and unmoving. For a wild few seconds Izuku started to question if they were making any headway at all- if they were just going in one large circle. He refused to note the faint feel of relief when they finally hit a circular room, grandly decorated and meticulously designed. He inhaled a deep, admiring breath. The circular ceiling held an ornate carving in the stone of a huge sun. The beams from the centered orb spread out through the room, forming the archways and curling at the edges of the walls. Faded, painted scenes of grass and other oasis styled plants encircled the floor. 

It was beautiful. Izuku made to fumble for his journal, but Bakugou placed a steadying hand on his arm. “Next time.” He said sternly, looking pointedly at his pocket. Izuku hesitated before silently nodding, replacing it. Neito and his group had most likely cleared the debree by the door, and they were losing time.

“How will we know which way is the correct one?” Kirishima questioned, inspecting each of the archways in turn.

Izuku tapped his lips thoughtfully. There were four passageways, if they included the one they just went down. They could just take the archway that continued their current course; but the underground had a way of diluting the senses- they had no way of telling if the hallway they had just went down had veered subtly, which would mean they needed to take a different direction. He walked up to one of the opposing archways. There seemed to be an insignia etched onto the keystone. The shadows from the torch were partially obscuring it though.

Without thinking, Izuku blindly reached behind him to clutch Bakugou’s sleeve, tugging him forward so he could get better lighting. It appeared to be an emblem. Drifting his hand to Bakugou’s elbow, he lifted the man’s arm up until the torch was just a couple of feet away from the insignia.

“Do _you_ want to fucking hold it?” Bakugou growled, yanking his arm back.

Izuku turned back towards him excitedly. “This is how we’ll be able to tell.” He pointed towards the crest on the upper keystone. “These symbols mark which chambers they lead towards. The one we just came from-” Izuku quickly walked back over the way they came, squinting his eyes in the dark to peer at the crest. Sighing, Bakugou ambled over to cast light on it. It was a worn, etched out carving of a winged sarcophagus. “This was for the preparation room. Which means-” Izuku flitted over to the next one, and the one after. Bakugou lit each one in turn. After a few seconds of thinking, Izuku nodded confidently. “We have to go down this one.” He pointed towards the archway in the far left corner. The emblem above the door was a ragged, angry relief of a snarling jackal.

He nearly skipped down it in his excitement before Bakugou once again stopped him, moving to lead. From behind the two, Kirishima had to suppress a snicker. It was like watching a comedy routine. 

“Something to say?” Bakugou asked lowly, his eyes narrowing as he turned slightly to face him.

Kirishima held up his hands in mock surrender.

“We’re losing time.” Izuku echoed softly, his brow raising as he flicked his gaze between the two.

Bakugou huffed, setting down the hall at a slightly faster pace. This hallway was different from the last. The carvings on the lower tier of the wall were more ominous. The shapes were sharper and more defined, and this time there were a series of other opposing hallways that fanned outwards from it. On more than one occasion they had to stop to re-orient themselves. Izuku had eventually slipped out his journal to sketch the passageways, marking the insignias. Bakugou didn’t move to stop him. The farther and deeper they went, the more emblems that appeared on the keystones. One hallway that branched off of theirs had a total of five separate markings. 

“Just how big _is_ this place?” Izuku breathed, sketching it down.

“The outside was just the tip of the iceberg, it seems.” Kirishima noted. He looked meaningfully at one of the old, barren torches lining the hall. He looked at Izuku for approval before carefully removing it, offering the tip to Bakugou. “Perhaps it’d be best…” Kirishima said.

Bakugou tip his torch forward, lighting it. They couldn’t have been underground for more than an hour, and a quick cursory glance at his watch confirmed it. It seemed like they were making decent ground, but his instinct was telling him-

“We’re going deeper underground.” He said slowly, staring at Izuku with a measured expression. “That Anubis statue couldn’t have been more than thirty to forty feet tall. Even half buried it’d have been just fifteen feet underground. We’re far beyond that fucking statue, and even farther below it.”

Izuku nodded. “I’ve realized that too.” He pointed to the snarling jackal insignia above them. “But that is what we need to follow. If it wasn’t the statue on the surface, then there must be another statue inside.”

Kirishima twirled the torch in his hands. “I say we might as well draw straws now.” 

“For _what?_ ” Bakugou snapped, his rapidly thinning patience palpable in his expression.

“For who we eat first.” Kirishima answered matter of factly. Izuku groaned audibly, rolling his eyes. “You groan now-” Kirishima said with a jokingly cryptic tone, “But soon you’ll be wishing we had kept our warden companion around-”

“Enough, enough.” Izuku cut him off, struggling to contain his laughter. “We’re very close.” He traced the walls with his fingers. The halls were growing more and more ornate as they went down. The keystone columns gained form and girth, the decorative trims on the lower walls growing larger and gaining pictures. Through a few of the opposing hallways, Izuku caught glimpses of color - far less faded than the scenes that were depicted in the preparation room. That meant that they were approaching something valuable. The tombs weren’t completely finished, as some Egyptian tombs unfortunately weren’t (due to a variety of poor circumstance), but whoever had built these tunnels had prioritized the painting and sculptures towards this particular section. That bespoke importance. His confident expression must have appeased the other two, because they kept moving forward without complaint. 

Before long, there was a marked difference in tone. The hallways opened up considerably, large columns lining the walls, littered with writing. Pedestals lined either side, each holding a small dish that would have been used to hold oil, most likely to use as lighting. Paintings and murals began to line the walls; large, intimidating figures in intricate robes and gowns, all depicted doing different tasks and jobs. Some tended fields, others wielded weapons, and some were painted writing on papyrus and other surfaces. While it wasn’t incredibly valuable, Izuku could see Kirishima’s eyes catch on the gold leaf embroidery lining the artwork. The amount of detail and sheer extent of the work bespoke to great wealth and power. He had never seen anything like this on this kind of scale.

Their progress was stopped short when they reached a tall, grand, door. It was incredibly menacing; the fierce jackal insignia was blown up in fierce caricature, full color breathing life into its features. The snarling maw was in full dimension, blossoming out of the doorway in mock reality. Its eyes were painted a deep, hateful crimson. The head was so large that there was little room on either side of the doorway.

“I’ve never seen Anubis depicted like this.” Izuku said, suddenly unsure. The door held a lifelike element that set off all of his warning bells. There was something deep inside of him that told him to turn around. But his curiosity wouldn’t let him. 

zuku could feel Bakugou’s gaze boring down on him. “It’s just a door.” 

“Just a door.” Izuku repeated, stepping towards it. He felt like he was suddenly in a daze. He reached tenderly towards the creature’s face, his hand slowly coming to rest on its snout. His eyes locked onto the beast’s for a few reeling moments.

Bakugou’s firm hand clasped onto his shoulder, drawing him out of his twisted reverie. “If you don’t know how to open it,” He offered, a sneer lighting his face, “I could open it for you with little trouble.”

At that, Izuku’s previous worries drained, and a prim expression took place instead. “We’ll have no more of that.” He snapped, snatching a torch from Kirishima’s fingers.

Kirishima weakly objected as it was taken, sighing when he was ignored.

Izuku held the light up to the jackal’s face, ignoring Bakugou’s amused snort behind him. There had to be a hidden mechanism within the molding. He gently tried each of the creature’s teeth, before working his way up to the eyes, then the ears… Nothing. Perplexed, Izuku tried pressing the nose. Bakugou stepped next to him, nonchalantly tapping the dynamite on his belt with his fingers. Izuku grit his teeth together as he tried looking at it from a different angle. He inspected the molding around the door, his eye catching on a few scratched markings hidden underneath the creature’s jaw.

“Hold on…” Izuku muttered, stepping around Bakugou. He kneeled to look at it closer. It wasn’t scratches at all, but writing. He mouthed it quietly, then swallowed deeply.

“Found something?” Kirishima ventured.

“It’s a warning. To beware all who enter - about a creature with insatiable hunger…” Izuku muttered off to himself, standing up again to inspect the head with newfound interest. It sounded like a clue of some kind. Like it was drawing attention to the missing puzzle piece. Izuku’s eyes stopped on the creature’s mouth, resting on its red, curling tongue. “Beware all who enter…For herein lies a creature with insatiable hunger…” 

Izuku reached into the monster’s gaping maw.

Just as quickly, a strong hand caught his arm, yanking it back.

“The hell are you doing?” Bakugou demanded.

“The handle is most likely in the mouth.” Izuku explained, struggling to free his arm from Bakugou’s steel grip. “That’s how we’ll open it.”

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed, his expression quickly heating. “Were you not the one who earlier warned about fucking traps?’ 

“If you have a better way to open the door,” Izuku said, his patience waning, “Then I’m all ears.”

“I have a great fucking idea, brat- I’ll blow it down. Easy.”

Despite his best intentions, Izuku could feel his own temper rise up to meet Bakugou’s. “Dynamite is _not_ a viable option-”

“And getting your hand potentially cut off _is?!_ ” Bakugou snarled, his grip tightening.

“If I could chime in-’ Kirishima piped up.

“ _No._ ” Izuku and Bakugou shouted in unison. Kirishima shrugged, muttering under his breath a series of measured cadences about coping strategies and sibling abuse.

Izuku struggled to center himself. A shouting match wouldn’t get them anywhere. “This is an academic venture.” He attempted, lowering his voice a few octaves. “As I explained before, we can’t run around blowing things up because they are simply… causing _minor_ setbacks.” He looked up at Bakugou with a pleading, forced expression. 

At first Bakugou didn’t respond- his angry, steely glare held him in place for a few more heavy moments. He looked about ready to say something back when a deep, clicking sound reverberated around them. Both of their heads shot up to see Kirishima quickly withdrawing his hand from the creature’s mouth as the door slowly opened next to him. 

Kirishima waggled his fingers at them, beaming. “Still intact, thank the gods.” 

Izuku stared at him dumbly for a few moments as the door creaked to a stop. It wasn’t until Bakugou huffed angrily next to him and abruptly released his arm that he blinked rapidly, quickly assorting himself. He sighed and gave Kirishima a guilty smile. “Thank you.” He said in lieu of an apology. 

Kirishima smiled knowingly, reclaiming his torch. Bakugou had already shouldered past them through the doorway, and they both followed.

At first Izuku couldn’t understand what he was seeing. It seemed to be a big, gaping hole of nothingness. The richly painted walls on either side of him just seemed to fade out into oblivion, and nothing but the small circle of light Bakugou cast around him was visible in any and every direction. The air though- the overall feel of the room, was constricting. The atmosphere felt significantly heavier, and the same feeling of dread Izuku had felt before pitfalled back into his stomach, telling him one thing: _Get Out._

Bakugou had stepped about thirty feet into the blank area, the glow of light only illuminating the floor at his feet, which was polished granite. Age had tinted the color, and it was covered in dust and dirt, but it was also unmistakably smooth. It seemed that time had caused a few of the blocks to break and crumble over time, but most of it was intact. Bakugou seemed relatively unaffected by the room, and Izuku watched questioningly as he wandered about the space, perfectly calm. Was he just imagining this ominous feeling?

Breathing deeply, Izuku tried to quell the feeling of unease in his stomach. Nobody had been in this room for thousands of years, what had they to fear? Filled with newfound determination, Izuku kept his hand on the side of the wall, following it into the darkness. There had to be an end to it. Reaching the emptiness, Izuku’s foot harshly clipped against something hard, and he inhaled a sharp, pained hiss.

“Midoriya?” Bakugou shot, his head jerking towards him.

“Izuku?” Kirishima questioned worriedly. He moved towards him, lighting up the offending obstacle. It was a pedestal of granite.

“I’m fine.” Izuku assured them. On top of the pedestal was a dish similar to the ones in the hallway. Dipping his hand in, he rubbed his fingers together. Something slick and smooth coated them. “Oil.” He explained as Kirishima moved closer. Bakugou watched them both carefully, his eyes settling on his face. Izuku felt like he was being read like a book.

“You seem nervous.” Bakugou stated, and Izuku’s heart fell a little bit. 

“No, it’s just-” Izuku motioned to the whole of the room, “This place feels… unsettling. Ominous. Like we shouldn’t be here.” He regretted the words the instant they left his mouth, though he stood by them.

Instead of reassuring him, Bakugou smirked, flashing his teeth. “So you _are_ afraid of the dark.”

“ _No._ ” Izuku insisted, his regret solidifying, “It’s just-” The words to properly explain the feeling didn’t come to him, and he sighed, exasperated. “Nevermind.” He clipped, making a point to ignore the satisfied grin on Bakugou’s face. He hauled Kirishima towards him.

“Here.” Izuku moved Kirishima’s torch so that it dipped into the dish. It almost immediately went up in flames, and they both had to step back a few feet as it ignited. The fire seemed to spready from the base of the dish up a small chute that led to the side of the wall. Izuku watched in dumb awe as he watched the fire climb up the side, moving up and up and up- Izuku’s jaw dropped. _That’s_ why the room had looked so empty- it was _massive_. When the flame finally hit the ceiling, it curled onwards, sparking until it hit the center of the ceiling. In a huge burst of fire, a large, hanging light lit above them, and the surrounding shoots spread as well until all corners of the room were visible. 

“It’s _huge._ ” Izuku stuttered, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. The room spread at least fifty meters in either direction, and it was an incredible fifteen meters tall. Every inch of the room was gilded in paintings . All of them were beyond anything he had ever seen. It was unheard of. “What… is this…?” Izuku managed, his hand reaching out to the wall. It wasn’t the sterotypical Egyptian depiction. They were…

“Glyphs?” Kirishima offered, his tone equally baffled.

The walls were lined with them. Glyphs, runes, and strange symbols that looked almost… alchemic in nature. Gilded in reds, blues, and golds, all twisting into a singular stream that led towards…

“There it is.” Izuku smiled. In the farthest corner of the room stood a tall, proud statue of Anubis. It soared up towards the ceiling, and towered over them in a vain, powerful posture. Its mouth bore the same, angry snarl as the door, its teeth the size of swords. Laid out in front of it was a rectangular structure. It was granite, like the floor, and covered in a series of strange symbols and patterns, just like the ones on the wall. Tangled in them, however, were hieroglyphs. “Ah!” Izuku exclaimed, rushing towards it. “Now _these_ , I can read.”

Bakugou walked up behind him, his eyes still scanning the walls. He set his torch down on the ground. “Are you sure this is still fucking Egyptian?”

Izuku nodded, writing hurriedly in his journal. He’d have to make sure he copied down every single detail in this room, no matter how long it took. “Don’t forget- Hamunaptra is a remnant of the All Might Era, which has always been a mystery to archaeologists. It only makes sense that there are things we don’t understand here.”

“You telling that to me or yourself?” Bakugou quizzed, his hands folding over his chest.

Izuku didn’t have a very good answer to that, so he kept quiet. Bakugou sighed, haphazardly leaning against the rectangular structure near where Izuku was writing. He glanced down as he watched the scholar work. It was damn near inhuman the way he fucking wrote, and considering it wasn’t even in English… It just made it all the more ridiculous. Still, he grudgingly admitted, their exploration wasn’t going half bad. He had personally watched the warden wander off into god knows fucking where, which was a pretty damn good start. Plus, he thought, smiling to himself, the brat had reached for him when he had gotten startled earlier. That particular knowledge pleased him on a very primal level. 

“Hey, question.” Kirishima started, peering around the granite. “So if we went through _that_ door, do you think the other group will be going through the one over-”

BOOM!

The entire floor seemed to shake as a huge explosion sent a wave of dust and debree flying through the room from the other side of the structure. Just as immediately as the detonation went off, Izuku found himself thrown to the ground, Bakugou on top of him. The man already had his revolver drawn, his other arm pinning Izuku to the floor. 

Izuku coughed as the dust cloud slowly waned off. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard a familiar, although highly agitated, voice.

“Iida?” Izuku called out, struggling to sit up. Bakugou kept him held to the ground, his nose scrunched up in a furious snarl. Izuku was about to tell him off when he suddenly lunged forward, aiming his gun at someone around the granite-

A series of opposing clicks went off, and Izuku’s eyes widened as he saw Kirishima put his hands up to show he wasn’t armed. He cast a worried glance towards him. The source of all the commotion was around the slab of granite, and he couldn’t tell what was happening.

“Easy there.” Came a cocky voice. Izuku had to take a moment to place it. It was Neito. Izuku struggled to his feet, stumbling to stand next to Bakugou. He blinked rapidly as he turned the corner, finding himself face to face with at least ten different opposing guns, all of them cocked and ready to fire. He felt Bakugou stiffen next to him when he approached.

“What on earth-” Izuku saw the source of the explosion and his temper flared. A smoking pile of wreckage now stood where the other jackal adorned door had once been. Iida’s voice broke out over them, and he sounded equally outraged.

“I told you to _wait_ \- I would have been able to open it if you had just _waited-_ ” Iida shouted, angrily tearing his glasses off of his face. He marched over to them, harshly wiping the lenses with the edge of his fitted vest. He fixed them back on his face and his eyes widened as he regarded the room. “Good gods…” He breathed, trailing across the glyphs, “What is all of this?” 

“If I may, Mr. Monoma,” Izuku interrupted, turning towards the blonde, “If your goal was just to simply _blast_ your way through, I have to wonder why you bothered bringing an Egyptologist at all.”

Iida had wandered over to the room walls, his expression entirely baffled as he examined the runes lining the interior. “I share that sentiment, Mr. Midoriya.” He called out, his eyes not leaving the mural.

Neito smirked at him, and Izuku could feel the challenge in it. “Your opinion of my methods matter little to me, _Mr. Midoriya._ ” He sneered, drawing over his name like an insult. He turned to smile at the group behind him. Izuku recognized all of their faces. Antonin, Walter, and Mineta were all present, each one of them holding a cocked revolver. The rest of the men were hired help, covered in white cloth.

“You’re outnumbered, Bakugou.” Mineta smiled. His face was lightly scraped from his earlier fall, bits of sand still sticking to the scratches. He held his gun in his one hand, aimed steadily at Bakugou. 

“I’ve had worse odds.” Bakugou growled, his face knit in a livid glower. Izuku noticed that he had aimed his gun decidedly on Mineta; a detail that he could see dawn on the scrawny man’s face - his triumphant expression twitched a little, betraying sudden fear.

“So have I.” Kirishima piped in confidently, his hands still held in the air. 

Bakugou turned a little to give him an irritated, disbelieving look.

“This here is our statue, friend” Antonin drawled, pulling back his attention.

The corner of Bakugou’s lip curled, revealing the sharp point of his canines. “Don’t see your name on it...buddy.”

This time Walter leaned forward. He wasn't as ragged looking as Antonin, but his face was still sharp and mean. His eyes held a dangerous glint. “If you don’t move your sorry ass, we’ll shoot you dead before you can say “Egypt.”

“Oh, thank the gods!” Iida exclaimed out of nowhere, relief dripping from his voice.

Izuku, Kirishima, and Bakugou, along with the rest of the opposing company looked over at the Egyptologist.

Iida stood in the far corner of the room, reverently running his hands on the other Anubis door. “This ones still intact.” He explained, beaming.

Everyone let out a collective sigh. “Last chance.” Walter repeated, waving his revolver towards the exit. 

Bakugou didn’t budge.

Izuku could feel the situation rapidly disintegrating. His mind raced as he tried to think of something, _anything_. Appealing to their better nature was certainly not an option- even Iida couldn’t rein them in, so he certainly didn’t have a chance- which if that was the case then… Oh. His eyes caught on a small granite tile on the ground. Most of the tiles were still intact, but some of them had broken away with age. Through a chipped corner he was able to see through the floor… That was it.

He reached over nonchalantly to place a placating hand on Bakugou’s firing arm. “If we’re going to play together nicely, we must learn to share.” He announced, letting a small sliver of disappointment color his tone. Izuku gently tried to lower Bakugou’s arm, but he still wouldn’t move. His red, furious glare met his. 

Izuku looked at him pointedly. “There are other places to dig.” He attempted again, trying to desperately convey his meaning through his eyes. After a few searching moments, Bakugou submitted, grudgingly reholstering his pistol. The Americans followed suit, lowering their guns. Mineta was slow to put his down, but after a beat he reluctantly stuck it back into his belt as well. Izuku let out a small breath of tension. For a few frightening moments he was uncertain if Bakugou would step down.

Neito grinned. “Glad to hear it.” He snapped his fingers, and the hired men immediately started to work on the granite structure, brushing off the layers of dirt and grime. Izuku quickly claimed Bakugou’s arm, leading him back through the door that they had came from. Izuku could feel Bakugou’s muscles, still taut and shaking underneath his shirt. He could practically _feel_ the heat coming from him. It was like the man would rather be shot than back down. 

They passed Iida on their way out, and Izuku sent him a pleading look. “Don’t let them destroy anything else.” He whispered under his breath.

Iida gave him a small smile, his face riddled with worry. He nodded curtly. “I’ll do my best.” He promised. Izuku gave him a grateful expression before they disappeared back into the hallways.

It was like flipping a switch. The instant they stepped out of the room, Izuku took a deep, shaky breath. Being in that room for so long was suffocating. The air was oppressive to the point of being toxic. The farther they walked from it, the better he felt. The knot in his stomach started to loosen.

“Izuku.” Kirishima said from behind them, “Are you really just going to let them take the book?”

“Of course not.” Izuku assured. “I don’t want Mr. Monoma anywhere _near_ that tome. But we have to play this right.” They reached the archway he was looking for, and he pulled Bakugou towards it, only to be stopped.

“Wait.” Bakugou asserted, tugging him to a standstill. “Where are you going?”

“The floors.” Izuku said matter of factly. Bakugou raised an eyebrow. “Some of the granite tiles were partially broken. I could see the room below it.” Izuku further clarified.

Kirishima clapped his hands together. “Ah! So if we find the room below it-”

“We could quite literally recover the book from right under their noses.” Izuku finished, smiling. He could see the disbelieving look on Neito’s face even now, a look of absolute dumbfoundedness as they opened the granite case only to find it empty. 

“You plan on digging through the _ceiling?_ ” Bakugou repeated. His tone didn’t reflect kindly on what he thought of the idea. Izuku nodded, daring him to present a better plan. After a few moments of processing, Bakugou ran his hand through his hair. “Alright, fuck it.” He clipped, “Why do I even fucking care?” 

Izuku beamed. “This way.” He said excitedly, heading through the archway.

Kirishima and Bakugou shared a look before following Izuku deeper into the bowels of Hamunaptra.


	9. Sarcophagus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quality time with the Americans that nobody wants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My roommate said she'd beta read but she doesn't
> 
> all errors are due to her own laziness

“This would be going a lot faster if you would help.” Izuku tried again, turning to Bakugou. The man was leaning against the wall, twirling his gun in his hands. 

Bakugou regarded him cooly from his perch, looking no less inclined. “I think you’re doing just fine.” He smirked, tipping his chin towards the ceiling.

Izuku sighed, backing up to reassess their progress. By his calculations, they had started working directly below the granite structure. The room that they were working in was just a simple space, meant only to support the room above. The ceiling was low, and the area was relatively unpainted, although the place where the granite most likely rested was marked with a single, emboldened glyph. Him and Kirishima had done a relatively good job of chipping away at its primary foundations- but the stone wasn’t giving away as easily as he had hoped. So far, they had been hammering for well over three hours.

“I wish I hadn’t lost all of my tools back on the boat.” Izuku lamented, remembering the assortment of hammers and other items that were lost. They would be resting at the bottom of the river by now, more than a couple day’s journey away. That, or were lost somewhere in the bundle of crates the American’s had retrieved from the water. Kirishima had a small chisel from his jacket pocket, but it was woefully too small for the job at hand. They had taken turns working back and forth. He rubbed his poor fingers, which were sore and red from the effort.

“I have an idea-” Bakugou started.

“ _Don’t_ say it.” Izuku cut off, holding up a finger in warning. If he heard one more explosion go off, _he’d_ be the next thing to detonate. Clapping his hands together, he tried to get some of the excess dirt off of them to little success. Water was in short supply in the desert, so he wouldn’t be able to clean them like he would usually. “Call me crazy,” Izuku said, swiping some of the dust from his clothes, “But I’m actually starting to miss the Nile right about now.”

“You’re definitely crazy.” Kirishima supplied, moving over to the wall. He collapsed against it, staring at the tiny chisel in his hands disdainfully.

Bakugou pushed off from where he was leaning on, non-committedly observing the ceiling’s progress. “Has it crossed your mind that they may have already opened it?” He asked, leveling his gaze. “This could just be a huge waste of fucking time.”

“Your optimism is inspiring.”

“I’m _realistic._ ” Bakugou clipped, his gaze narrowing. “You’ve been digging for several hours now. How long do you think it’s taken them to crack open that fucking block?”

“We’re not even sure if it’s the granite block that opens.” Izuku defended, his heart starting to fall. He refused to concede to Bakugou’s infuriatingly logical points. “It could literally be buried beneath the statue, or perhaps there’s a compartment in the wall that-”

A loud, cracking noise cut him off. The three of them all simultaneously looked up at the source of the noise. 

“The hell?” Bakugou wondered aloud. Where the fuck had that come from? The ceiling was shaking off a large amount of dust, and Izuku stepped towards it questioningly, his eyes squinting as he tried to inspect the stone closer. 

It seemed to still be intact. Izuku opened his mouth to say as much before another huge crack, followed by a loud rumble interrupted him. 

The next few seconds happened in a slow motioned blur. The ceiling above him seemed to crumble right before his eyes. Just as instantly he felt someone throw him backwards, his head smacking against the floor when he landed. A deafening roar followed. Stars exploded behind his eyes, and he gasped, inhaling a lungful of dust. Instinctively he started coughing, the noise barely audible above the roar of crashing stone. Each powerful cough sent another wave of pain rolling through his head, and he tipped over on his side, covering his mouth with the crook of his arm. 

In the next few seconds that followed, the cave in finally settled, a few errant pieces of granite falling and rolling off of the pile in a few scattered clicks. Izuku was able to marginally open his eyes, the dust still thick and irritating. Bakugou seemed to have made it to his feet beside him, his chest heaving as he grabbed his lost torch from the ground. Kirishima had effectively plastered himself against the side wall, his eyes comically wide but rapidly blinking, his mouth held open in a shocked grimace. 

Izuku staggered to his feet, his legs unsteady beneath him. He reached out and leaned against a nearby pillar for support. Looking up, he could hear the faint sounds of yelling and shouts from the floor above. 

Bakugou slammed his torch into a nearby hanging pedestal. “Great fucking plan.” He spat, marching over to the fallen ceiling. He peered upwards, his hand resting on his gun belt. After a moment he seemed appeased, though his shoulders were still stiff, his posture tightly wound.

Izuku continued coughing as the dust settled. Everything hurt. His graceful tumble off of his camel was coming back to haunt him, his back aching with newfound vigor. His hand sought the back of his head. He hadn’t landed hard enough to cause a concussion, but it certainly hurt; and would probably continue to do so for the next day or two. His eyes traced over Kirishima’s unharmed, though incredibly startled, figure before turning to the source of the commotion.

He stumbled towards the rock pile, his hands coming to rest on a long, narrow stone case half buried in the makeshift quarry. Izuku blinked. This was different from the rest of the surrounding stone. He brushed off some of the rubble, the gathered dust reluctantly clinging to the case’s surface. Izuku peered upwards, his head pulsating in protest. The granite case above them still appeared to be intact, still effectively shielding them from the Americans. His heart started to beat a little faster as it dawned on him.

“This is a sarcophagus.” Izuku marveled aloud, his voice a little raspy from his coughing fit. He started sweeping away the dust with a little more force, trying to find any external markings.

Bakugou came up behind him, his face still a mask of irritation. “Why would they bury someone in the ceiling?”

“They were buried at the base of Anubis.” Izuku amended, his eyes still glued to the case. “They must have been someone of _great_ importance…” He stopped, his hands going still. The angry, snarling jackal came to the forefront of his mind, and the feeling of dread started to knot in his stomach again. He looked up at Bakugou. “...Or had done something unthinkable.”

“Promising.” Kirishima hacked, throwing a single arm over the lid. “Think they buried them with anything?”

Izuku breathed out a small, half-hearted laugh. “Unlikely.” He started sweeping the surface again, his hand grating against a square indent in the center. Inhaling a deep, shaky breath, he blew out a strong puff of air, misplacing the remaining dirt. Emboldened was a large cutout of the sun, a scarab centered into it. Above was a single hieroglyph. He traced the picture with his fingers.

“Know who it is?” Bakugou questioned, folding his arms across his chest.

Izuku shook his head slowly, running his hand back over the glyph. “‘He who shall not be named.’” He read aloud, concern lacing his tone. The ominous feeling grew.

“This is a lock.” Bakugou added, pointing the indent of the sun. He raised a brow. “What are these things made out of? Granite with some kind of steel interior?”

“Limestone exterior, then quarried granite with a cobalt lining.” Izuku recited from memory. He flicked a quick glance up at Bakugou, who was examining the sarcophagus with apt concentration. His arms were still crossed over his chest, and Izuku found himself tracing the lines of his muscles before he realized it. He quickly jolted his gaze elsewhere.

Kirishima whistled softly, knocking against the surface with a balled fist. “Whoever was in here sure wasn’t getting out.” 

“Without a key it would take us at least a month to open it.” Bakugou said decidedly. His mouth tugged into a small sneer. “That is, without using more extreme methods.”

Izuku blinked. “A key.”

Bakugou’s brow twitched in confusion, his sneer dropping. “Yes… A key.” He affirmed.

Izuku’s face lit up in sudden realization. “That’s what he meant! A key! That’s what he was talking about-” He reached over to Kirishima, wildly rummaging through his pockets.

“Whoah! Hey there!” Kirishima exclaimed, his hands going up as he was searched. “Who, what, and where?”

“The man on the barge, the one with the hook- he was looking for a key-” Izuku let out a victorious cry as he found what he was looking for. In his hands was the gold, octagon box. He excitedly traced the edges until his finger caught on the jutting hieroglyph. Clicking it, the box popped open, the sides opening into a representation of the sun. Reeling, he gently placed the box onto the lock.

It was a perfect fit.

Izuku beamed, looking up at them triumphantly. Bakugou ran a hand through his hair, refusing to let his face betray how impressed he was. What the hell were the chances? “Help me move away some of these rocks.” Izuku said excitedly, tapping him on the arm. “We’ll need plenty of space to open it.”

Bakugou dutifully hauled away the remaining debree, throwing them in a nonsensical pile behind him. Kirishima watched on with a cautious expression, his uncertainty noticeable. “Are you sure we should open it?” He asked, half heartedly following Izuku as he swept off the rest of the dirt.

“Why, Kirishima, you’re the last person I would expect to hesitate when it comes to infiltrating sarcophagi.” Izuku replied curtly, lifting a pointed eyebrow. Kirishima winced a little. Of course his brother wouldn’t have forgotten the library incident. Izuku patted the lid happily as Bakugou ambled back over to his side, the worst of the pileup having been moved.

“Now, let’s take a closer look…” Izuku breathed. He clutched the key in his hand, pressing it inwards. Nothing. He tried turning it counter clockwise, but still nothing. Unperturbed, he tried turning it clockwise. He felt it shudder. Heart inflating, he applied more pressure. The sun slowly turned, dialing around until the scarab pointed downwards. A loud, sanded click went off, and the upper corners of the sarcophagus blew out a gust of sealed air. Izuku rested his shoulder against the corner of the lid, pushing against it with all his strength. It seemed to barely budge. It must have easily weighed around three hundred pounds. Izuku grit his teeth as he pushed, his feet digging into the rocks around him. He didn’t make headway for a few seconds, before he felt the lid give way suddenly underneath him. The solid limestone crashed to the floor on the other side, and Izuku looked up to see Bakugou rolling his shoulder, giving him a cocky smirk.

“I could have gotten it.” Izuku murmured.

“I’m sure.”

Kirishima stepped between them. “Oh, gods, not another one.” He groaned, looking into the case. A smaller, black sarcophagus sat inside, its face carved to replicate the snarling caricature of Anubis. A series of letters and symbols lined the entirety of it, and Izuku leaned over the side to try and get a better look. 

“This one will be significantly lighter, I’d wager.” Izuku said, examining it. It was a simplistic design, especially when you took into consideration the intricacy of the room it was buried in. Most important figures would ensure that their ‘casket’ was lined with all sorts of valuable stones and bright colors. “Help me lift it out.” His sentence was met with a series of low exhales, and he watched Bakugou hoist himself on the lower edge.

“You any good lifting?” Bakugou questioned, looking at Kirishima skeptically. 

Scoffing, Kirishima tossed himself over the edge as well. “I’m a decently sturdy man. I’d wager that you’re the one who’ll struggle to keep up.”

Bakugou’s gaze narrowed at the challenge, and his chest puffed out a little. “We’ll see.”

Izuku chuckled a little under his breath as he watched them lift it out of its limestone tomb with a little unnecessary vigor. He retrieved his journal from his interior pocket, tapping his pen against his lips as he transcribed their findings. Hopefully the mummy inside was carrying a telling object, an item of some kind that would identify them. Of course, considering the sarcophagus it was possible that they would have removed any and all valuables from his figure. That and the transcription on the limestone itself, stating that the man would remain unidentified… They surely would have gone through the basic mummification process anyway though, sealing his organs in canopic jars and placing them somewhere near the body-

“Mumbling.” Kirishima chimed, drawing him out of his mutterings. Izuku felt his cheeks flush faintly. He really needed to break that habit.

“The hell was that?” Bakugou grit, hauling the lower end of the sarcophagus over the edge on the limestone. “They rip out your organs and stuff them in _jars?_ ”

Izuku couldn’t help but smile at the man’s incredulous expression. “They take out your heart as well. And the way they took out your brains-”

“Izuku, I really don’t think we need to know that-” Kirishima tried to interrupt.

“-They take a sharp, red hot poker-” He demonstrated with the chisel in his hands, “Stuff it up your nose, _scramble_ it all together, then rip it all out through your nostrils.”

Kirishima gagged a little even as Bakugou let out a small, airy scoff. “I can think of a few people who’d deserve it.”

Izuku gave him a sly smile. He had no doubt that Mineta was one of his suggested candidates. “Well, it’s called mummification. You’ll be dead when they do this.” He explained.

Bakugou’s face didn’t waver. “Exceptions can be made.” He countered non committedly. In a swift, powerful movement, him and Kirishima lifted up the Sarcophagus, pulling it towards the wall. With a loud slam, they tipped it over so that it was leaning against it, upright. Bakugou stepped back, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm. “For the record though, if I fucking get shot, don’t put me down for mummification.”

“Likewise.” Kirishima agreed, nodding.

Giddy, Izuku practically skipped towards the sarcophagus, his expression one of pure excitement. He ran his hands reverently over the surface, reading the inscriptions. “I’ve dreamed about this since I was just a child.” He bubbled, hurriedly writing down the letters.

“You dream about dead guys?” Bakugou echoed.

“Look here.” Izuku continued, pointing to one of the lines. “There are sacred spells chiseled on here.” He read them, mouthing the words to himself. His eyes narrowed as he leaned in closer. He had to be reading this wrong. “I don’t understand - this man must have been condemned not only in this life, but in the next as well.”

“Tough break.” Bakugou concluded. Kirishima chuckled next to him, tossing the key in his hands as he went to place it into the case’s lock. The indent was the same as it was on the limestone, and it fit in perfectly. He rotated it twice before the lid clicked.

“Well, let’s see who we’re dealing with, shall we?” Kirishima said invitingly, giving a meaningful look at Bakugou. He nodded, and they both gripped either side of the lid, moving to push it open without tipping the whole thing over.,/p>

After a few seconds of effort, the lid suddenly flew outwards. Just as immediately, the mummy inside lurched out of the case with considerable force, jolting to a stop just short of Izuku’s face.

It was so entirely unexpected that Izuku couldn’t stop the short, shrill shriek that ripped out of his mouth as he stumbled a few wild steps backwards. Bakugou and Kirishima were equally surprised, jerking themselves away from the sarcophagus as the mummy leaned precariously out of its prison.

“Gods, I _hate_ it when these things do that.” Izuku gasped, clutching his chest. It felt like his heart would beat right out of it. 

“The hell…” Bakugou grimaced, staring at the mummy with a disgusted expression. “Is it supposed to look like that?”

Izuku shook his head. The mummy was still...fresh. It was a dark, grey color - what had used to be skin was clinging to his bones in a spiderwebbed pattern, the rotting flesh still wet, glistening in the torchlight. The eyes and face were sunken in, his jaw hanging just barely by the deteriorating gunk, leaving him entirely unrecognizable. Izuku had to step back and cover his nose as the smell hit him. “No…” he managed, his voice slightly muffled by his shirt sleeve, “I’ve never seen a mummy look like this before. He’s still….still…”

“ _Juicy._ ” Kirishima and Bakugou finished in unison.

Izuku nodded. “Exactly…” He stepped as close as the smell would allow him, his eyes watering as they analyzed the web of decay. “He must be more than three thousand years old, but... It looks as if he’s still decomposing.” Now more than ever he wished Professor Aizawa was here with him. If anyone knew more about mummies, it was him. There had to be some kind of logical explanation, but he couldn’t even begin to think of one.

“Look at this.” Bakugou said, kneeling next to the fallen lid on the ground beside them. Izuku followed his gaze, his brow furrowing as he knelt next to him. He reached into the interior of the lid, feeling the stone.

Carved into it were long, straight lines. They were criss crossed all over the upper half of the coffin. They were all in sets of four. Izuku hesitantly placed his fingers into the grooves, following the lines with his fingers. “Fingernails.” Izuku murmured, a sense of horror dawning in his chest. He glanced up at Bakugou, whose expression was surprisingly calm and measured. “This man was buried alive.” Izuku finished, his voice a little shaky. 

Bakugou glanced up at Kirishima, who was plugging his nose closed with his hand. After a few seconds of reflection, the blonde abruptly stood up, dusting the dust from his clothes. “We should head back up.” He said simply, walking over to retrieve his torch from its stand.

Izuku blinked rapidly in disbelief. “Leave? We can’t leave, we still need to find the book-”

“Look above you.” Bakugou broke in, his red eyes narrowing. “The ceiling just fucking caved in under the strain. If we keep digging, we might not be able to avoid the next one.”

Izuku’s face flushed at the logic. “But-”

“It’s going to take us over an hour to get back to the surface.” Bakugou continued, prowling closer to him, “By the time we get back up there, we’ll have only a couple hours of light left to make camp. And this fucker-” he pointed towards the mummy, “Won’t walk off on us by tomorrow.”

“I don’t-”

“And _furthermore,_ ” Bakugou cut, “I’m _not_ leaving you here by yourself, so you’d better _get moving._ ” 

Izuku had to stare up at Bakugou as he stepped closer, towering over him. He internally sighed. There he went again, trying to use his height and size to intimidate him. For a brief second Izuku thought about arguing back, but the logic was undeniably sound. There wasn’t anything else they could do at this point. “I suppose,” Izuku sighed, skirting his eyes to the floor, “We should probably leave now. Considering we still have to find out where the warden went.”

That statement seemed to surprise Bakugou, but it was almost immediately replaced with irritation. The prospect of going to find the warden most definitely did not appeal to him. Izuku looked at him innocently, internally noting it. It seemed that he had struck some kind of chord. 

Bakugou crossed his arms, his nose ever so slightly pinching up in the beginnings of a snarl. He looked at Izuku with a forced calm. “Why? You missing his company?”

Izuku didn’t miss a beat. “Would you care if I did?” He asked, keeping his faultless expression. Even more interesting. Bakugou’s face further tightened, his furious posture indicating that yes, he most definitely _did_ care, but his response contradicted it.

“No.” He hissed, pivoting towards the exit. “Now hurry up so we can _leave._ ”

Izuku watched him turn the corner, and he scratched his cheek in mild bafflement. Bakugou seemed legitimately upset over the prospect of him caring about the warden’s whereabouts. Did he truly hate the man that much? Stepping carefully around the sarcophagus lid, Izuku made to follow him through the winding hallways. He could suppose that it had something to do with the man’s imprisonment. Should _he_ ever be arrested, as unlikely as that was, and was thrown in prison, he most likely wouldn’t care for his prison keeper either. That had to be the reason.

Izuku hummed to himself as he kept step next to Bakugou, Kirishima keeping pace a few meters behind. He had expected to have to point out the general direction of the exit, but it seemed that Bakugou had excellent memory of the winding hallways, and he chose the correct pathways with ease. It was no small feat. Erring on the side of caution, Izuku brought out his journal, taking care to keep note of the keystones, just in case they took a wrong turn. Iida and the rest of the Americans were nowhere to be found, and Izuku wondered briefly if they were still in the Anubis tomb, digging. His heart lifted slightly at the prospect. With any luck, they hadn’t yet uncovered the Book of the Living, and they would have another chance to uncover it before them tomorrow.

The pace that Bakugou set was quick, and Izuku found himself on more than one occasion having to hop a few extra feet to keep up with him. He was silent for most of the trek, stopping only as they neared the sun room, close to forty minutes in their excursion. Bakugou held up his hand, motioning for them to halt. Izuku was able to stop just before running into him, and he looked at him with a quizzical expression.

“Why are we stopping?” Kirishima piped up, a little breathless. The breakneck pace had him slightly panting. He rested his hands on his knees.  
Bakugou didn’t answer, instead jerking his head towards an opposing hallway, watching it intently. His dominant hand slowly reached towards his gun belt. Izuku peered around his frame, confused. Was it the Americans? 

A high, keening wail suddenly caught his attention, sending an immediate chill down his spine. His hand reached for the back of Bakugou’s shirt. The cry was distant down the hallway, but was slowly getting louder. For the life of him he couldn’t place it. He could feel Bakugou tense underneath his grip, his hand settling on his revolver. Kirishima had shuddered into alertness as well, his shoulders drawing back in attention.

The wailing got louder and louder, until it was right on top of them. The screeching was distantly recognizable, and Izuku’s widened as he almost placed it. “Oh gods.” Izuku whispered, barely audible. It sounded like-

The warden came crashing around the bend, his hands clutching either side of his head as he screeched in pain. Bakugou pivoted, shoving Izuku into the wall behind him, pressing up against him defensively. The warden barreled past them, heedless to their presence, his wild stampede sending him headfirst into an opposing wall, his head slamming into it. He bounced backwards, his body still twitching for a few gut wrenching seconds before he suddenly stilled, his eyes still wide open.

Izuku let out a single exhaling cry, his knees buckling beneath him. He was dead. The warden was dead, he knew it. Bakugou slowly let up on him and Izuku slid to the floor, unable to take his eyes off of the body.

Bakugou drew out his revolver, aiming it the warden's lifeless figure. Kirishima inched forward, kicking the man’s arm slightly with the toe of his boot. No movement. No response. “What the hell happened?” Kirishima breathed, his tone mixed with shock and fear.

Bakugou drew forward, kneeling down a couple of feet away from the warden’s head. The man’s face was red and purplish, his eyes bloodshot. Blood was running from his nose and ears, but otherwise there were no other noticeable wounds. Bakugou inspected him for a few seconds more before reaching forward and pulling off the crossbody pack the warden had slung around his body.

“Fucking hell if I know.” Bakugou grit, his eyes still trained on the body as he slowly stood. He strode over to Izuku, who was still sitting on the floor, eyes wide and unbearably green. His mind was still on high alert, his eyes skirting past the supposedly barren hallways as he offered him a hand up. 

Still reeling, Izuku accepted it, his knees not feeling sturdy yet. He leaned a little heavily against Bakugou’s arm for support, but he was still too shocked to care. For once, Bakugou didn’t have a snarky comment, and he handed off the warden’s pack to Kirishima as he adjusted his grip on him. Izuku blinked, his eyes still glued on the warden’s face. His mind started working in overdrive as it re-oriented itself. “Do you suppose it was a trap that did this?” Izuku wondered aloud. He hadn’t heard of anything like it, but this place was out of the ordinary in so many other ways, it shouldn’t be surprising.

“Let’s move.” Bakugou answered, swiveling him away from the body. Izuku wasn’t given much of an option otherwise, and he was only able to turn his head and absorb Kirishima’s firm, worried expression as they set towards the exit at an equally quick pace.

Kirishima seemed to rack his head for a reassuring statement, but it took him a few moments before he could find one. “We’ll feel better once we’re out in the sun.” He smiled, the expression too tight to be sincere.

Izuku only blinked at him, turning to stare at the path ahead. He would be fine, really, it was just incredibly jarring. After a minute or two, Izuku was able to keep pace without his limbs shaking beneath him. He tried to pull himself free from Bakugou’s grip, no longer needing the support, but the blonde was either reluctant or just wholly unwilling to let go; and after a few moments of trying to break loose, Izuku just accepted the hold.

He hadn’t even known he was holding his breath until he saw the faint glow of natural sunlight ahead. 

 

\-------------------------------------------------------- _Previously, with the Americans_

“This would be the correct one.” Iida confirmed, tapping the inscription with his fingers. He was kneeling at the base of Anubis’ feet, just above the granite structure. “We’ll need to remove this to get to the compartment inside.”

Neito nodded, motioning for Walter to retrieve his crowbar. Some real progress, at last. The four eyed idiot had been wandering about the chamber for what seemed like hours now. Though they had the chamber to themselves now, he didn’t like to have his time wasted. 

Neito rolled a toothpick in his mouth as Walter settled the crowbar above the compartment’s seam. It had been all too easy to get rid of that rabid blonde and his two charges. For a brief moment, he had almost been concerned when he saw the group going into the tombs through a sort of hole or crevice from a hill above them, but his concerns were apparently ill founded. They had gotten here just in time. He had to smile when he thought of that tiny, aspiring scholar. His expression was anything but intimidating when he had snapped at him about blowing the door down. The man’s small, freckled face had flushed angrily in the most pleasant fashion. He wondered where that idiotic Bakugou had found him. He was almost remiss that he couldn’t have gotten that green eyed ditz instead of this bespectacled idiot the college had saddled him with. 

“Wait.” Iida said, placing a restraining hand on Walter’s arm. “We’re not sure if it’s a trap. We should go about this more carefully.”

Walter looked at Neito questioningly. Retrieving the toothpick from his mouth, Neito motioned Mineta forward. “Tell them to open it.” He said, looking pointedly at the hired help.

With a small, knowing smile, Mineta turned towards them. “ _Aiftahah._ ” He pointed towards the crowbar in Walter’s hand and then to the compartment. The men were all jittery and nervous, their hands wringing circles around their wrists. A couple of the braver ones stepped forward, the pair taking the crowbar from Walter’s grip and settling it back into the crevice.

Neito sent a meaningful look to Walter and Antonin, making a show of stepping back. Iida followed suit, though his posture was deeply troubled. “That’s not what I meant when I said we should be more careful. It would be better if we-”

A loud pop sounded as the compartment cracked open. Just as immediately, a sharp hiss of steam shot out from around the edges, billowing around the hired men’s faces. The hiss was overtaken with the sound of screams. Iida jumbled backwards with the rest of the group as the two men fell to their knees, clutching their faces.

The steam had completely blistered them beyond recognition, the skin red hot and seemingly melted from the bone. Iida was barely able to suppress a shout of horror as the flesh seemed to completely rend from them, liquefying into a heap as they collapsed on the granite, dead. 

“Jesus _Christ!_ ” Antonin screeched, taking off his hat to fan it in front of him. Neito was momentarily speechless, watching the skin continue to bubble dissolve into the stone. 

“ _Damnation!_ ” Iida cursed, covering his mouth and nose with the crook of his elbow. “Gods, I told you it could be trapped - and now look at them, gods the _skin_ -” 

“Nevermind it.” Neito hissed, likewise covering his nose and mouth. He moved forward, stepping over the two bodies. The compartment was tipped open, the steam already dissipated. In a single, lurching motion, he yanked it forward the rest of the way, the granite box falling to the ground with a loud bang. Dust wafted from the floor upon impact. He looked disdainfully down at the two dead bodies, snapping his fingers. “Tell them to move them.” He snapped at Mineta harshly, his nose still bunched in distaste. The smell was acidic and decidedly sour.

Mineta quickly barked out the orders, and the three remaining men quickly, albeit delicately, dragged the bodies away to a far corner. The dead men’s faces left wet smears upon the stone. Iida found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the trail, and he swallowed deeply. When he accepted this job, river cruise sieges and melted faces were not part of the description. It wasn’t until a firm hand slapped him soundly on the back that Iida was brought back to the present. 

“He asked you a question, four eyes.” Walter drawled, rolling a cigarette in his mouth.

Iida adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose, straightening his back. He did? He had been too distracted to notice. “Beg pardon?” He remedied, ignoring the slight shaking in his fingers.

“What does it say?” Neito repeated, his tone thin.

Iida stepped forward, taking care to walk around the bloody smudges. He knelt next to the coffer, his eyes already dancing across the hieroglyphs. It was a decently sized container, drawing up to about knee height, carrying just about the same measurement in width and length. The markings on the sides were decorative, although incredibly violent pictures. His hands followed the glyphs carved into the top of the lid. “This is a curse.” Iida said simply, his brow furrowing in concentration.

“I don’t care about curses.” Neito growled. “What’s _inside?_ ”

Iida gave him a sideways glare. “‘In these hallowed grounds, that which was set forth in ancient times, is as strong today as it was then.’”

“That’s a very poetic quote.” Neito sneered. “But quoting that old man does you no good. Toshinori Yagi was arguably the best archaeologist the world has ever seen, but he was a superstitious fool.” Neito tapped the top of the coffer with a closed fist, his expression devolving into a scowl. “I, however, am _not_ a superstitious fool. So tell me how to _open it._ ”

Iida gave him a very affronted stare, before turning back down to the inscription. He read it aloud. “ _Death will come on swift wings to whomever opens this chest._ ”

The instant the words left his mouth, a gust of air blew through the chamber. The pans of fire around the room flickered, and their long shadows danced in the shaking light. The hired men exclaimed in fear, their worried murmurs amongst each other growing in intensity. 

Iida felt a growing sense of dread knot in his stomach. “It says there is one, of the undead, who if brought back to life, is bound by sacred law to consummate this curse.” 

Neito scoffed next to him. “Well we’ll just have to make sure that we don’t bring anyone back from the dead, won’t we?” His confident jest seemed to appease Walter and Antonin, who chuckled lightly at the comment. Mineta watched on from a distance, fear prominent in his features. He stood next the hired men, his posture indicating he was ready to bolt on the drop of a pin.

Iida continued. “He will kill all who open this chest, and assimilate their organs and fluids.” This statement drew more laughter from the three Americans, and Iida’s tone turned harsh as he finished, “And in doing so he will regenerate. He will no longer be the undead, but a plague upon this earth.”

Neito continued laughing, tracing the edges of the coffer with his fingers. “So there’s no trick at all. I’ve never heard such bullshit in my whole life.” 

Iida watched him finger the lid, the unease growing. “Maybe it’d be best if-”

A loud, resounding crash echoed beneath them. The floor seemed to rumble and shake below their feet, and the whole group had to stop and regain their footing. Everyone, save for Iida, reached for their revolvers and pointed them at the floor, where the source of the noise was. The hired men were shouting at each other in alarm.

“What in God’s name was that?” Antonin snapped, his hand shaking. The sound had played upon the growing tension, and it was showing now in their expressions.

“Sounded like it came from below us.” Walter ventured. He looked up at Neito. “Think it was the other group?”

“It was likely a cave in of some kind.” Iida speculated, his hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He glanced over at the door of Anubis. “It may have been caused by our weight, perhaps? Or maybe an aftereffect of the earlier explosion…” Iida looked at Neito carefully. “I’m going to go investigate.”

Neito seemed to consider that, sharing a measured look with the other two. After a few seconds of contemplation, he nodded. “Fine by me. But if you get lost, we’re not looking for you.”

“Maybe in a couple thousand years he’d be worth something.” Walter muttered under his breath. Neito and Antonin busted out laughing at that, and Iida’s cheeks flushed in anger. He motioned to two of the remaining hired men. 

“I’ll likely be needing help. You two.” Iida said, heading towards the door. The two men seemed grateful to leave, quickly following behind him. The lone man remaining seemed pale, eyes flicking towards his dead companions. Mineta seemed reluctant to stay as well.

“I’ll be coming with.” Iida turned to see Mineta close behind him, his eyes skirting nervously around the room. “This place is cursed.” Mineta hissed under his breath. Iida looked at him carefully, a little regretful that he would have to bring him along. He really, really, did not like him.

Iida nodded hesitantly. He retrieved a couple torches from their holders, lighting them and handing them out. His makeshift party quickly vanished into the hallways.

Neito watched them go, rolling his toothpick in his mouth. He bit down on it, breaking it in half. He spat the two broken pieces on the floor. “Cowards.” He growled. He waved the remaining hired man forward. “Let’s crack open this thing.” When the remaining man got next to him, Neito waved pointedly towards the coffer. “Open it.” 

The man looked at him, fear in large relief in his eyes. He didn’t need to speak English to know what Neito was asking him to do. Walter and Antonin watched on, easy smiles on their faces.

“I _said,_ ” Neito threatened, pulling out his revolver, “ _Open it._ ”

The man glanced back and forth between the coffer and Neito’s revolver. He seemed immeasurably torn between either fate.

Neito cocked the barrel.

Fear made him decide. The man tipped forward, falling to the ground in front of the stone compartment. The three American’s stepped back. The man closed his eyes, whispering a series of phrases under his breath repeatedly as he slowly tipped the lid open-

Nothing.

The lid fell to the ground, the only sound to be heard a low hiss that seemed to crawl through the walls of the room. The four of them all shuddered simultaneously. Another gust of air went through the chamber, and their shadows once again danced in the moving light. Neito moved forward, relatively unruffled. He peered inside the container, reaching in and pulling out the sole occupant - a book.

“The hell is this?” He snapped. It took both of his hands to lift it. The book appeared to be made out of some stone or metal. It was mainly black in color - the binding a solid silver. The pages appeared to be a black stone. The book itself was latched shut with two metal fasteners. On the front was an indent of a sun, with a scarab in the middle. For a few unusual moments, Neito would swear it seemed to vibrate in his fingers.

“No treasure?” Walter asked, his tone starting to heat. Antonin cursed, kicking the side of the compartment. The stone cracked from the blow, and a piece fell off from the side. The pair continued to cuss amongst themselves until Neito’s eye caught a glint of something shiny through the cracked stone.

“Hold on, boys.” Neito called out, haphazardly tossing the book back on the floor. It fell to the ground with a resounding smack. Neito crouched down to inspect the place where Antonin had kicked the box. There was something in there. Reaching in a couple of fingers, Neito pulled out the stone piece. The whole side of the box gave way, revealing another hidden compartment. Nestled in it were four canopic jars. They were carved ivory, each shaped into a different hybrid animal. All four were encrusted in jewels and lined with gold. 

“That’s better.” Neito smirked, holding one of them up to the light. Now _these_ would fetch a fair price. Antonin and Walter huddled beside him. 

“Things are looking up, boys.” Neito beamed. It was only going to get better from here.


	10. Final Warning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stranger danger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god what's happening

Izuku sat by the fire, his saddle blanket firmly tucked around his shoulders. Ochako sat in his lap, purring contentedly as he ran his fingers through her hair. She seemed to have made fast friends with his camel, who was folded up and resting just a stone’s throw away. He would have let him closer, but Bakugou had thrown a fit about the camel sleeping next to them. Honestly, the smell wasn’t _that_ bad. Kirishima was sitting near him, also cocooned in a saddle blanket. He had sided with Bakugou, the traitor.

Ochako flicked up her tail in greeting, and Izuku turned his head to see Bakugou making his way up to the hill they had camped out on, shotgun in hand. Izuku had insisted on the spot; from up here they could see the whole horizon, and were far away enough from Neito’s camp that the added light wouldn’t disturb their view of the stars. Bakugou seemed to be regretting letting Izuku make that decision now, and when he reached the top he roughly sat himself directly next to him with an irritated huff.

“Any news?” Izuku greeted, his mind acutely aware that their knees were touching. Bakugou cast him a sideways glance, his eyes flicking down to Ochako’s resting spot on his lap. She met his gaze unflinchingly, her tail swiping from side to side as though to dare him to try and pet her. 

“It seems our American friends ran into some trouble too.” Bakugou answered, staring at Ochako warily. That fucking cat looked like it was about to go for his jugular. 

“Define trouble.” Izuku prompted, oblivious to the standoff. He rubbed Ochako’s ears between his fingers.

“Three of their diggers were killed.” Bakugou replied. Some of the stiffness left his limbs when he saw the cat relax under Izuku’s gentle petting. 

Izuku’s eyes widened. “That’s awful! Did they…” He hesitated, biting his lip as his tone softened. “...Go out the same way?”

Bakugou shook his head. “Salt acid. Pressurized salt acid. Some sort of trap that fucking melted their faces off.”

Izuku felt a small shiver run through his spine. It could have just as easily been them. If the Americans hadn't insisted on taking over the initial dig site, there was no way of knowing if he would have figured out it was trapped. Beside him, Kirishima whistled softly, holding his hands out to warm them by the fire. “Damn. Maybe this place really is cursed?”

At his words, the fire flickered dramatically from a sudden gust of wind. Bakugou and Kirishima exchanged glances as the light dwindled for a few eery moments. Izuku scoffed. “Gods, you two...” He chastised, looking between them sternly. 

Bakugou peered down at him as he stoked the fire with the tip of his shotgun, encouraging the flames to reignite. “Don’t believe in curses very much, do you?”

“I was under the impression you felt the same way.” Izuku tested.

“I’m asking you, brat.”

Izuku hummed thoughtfully, considering his stance. “If I can see it or touch it, then that makes it real to me.” Ochako stirred in his lap, kneading the calf of his leg with her paws in agreement.

Kirishima chuckled. “He wasn’t always like that, though.”

Bakugou perked up at that tidbit even as Izuku shot him a warning look. “True story.” Kirishima continued, disregarding the dangerous aura cascading from his younger brother. “When he was little, he was incredibly superstitious. Him and our father would feed off of each other; making sure shoes weren’t turned upside down, that coffee was occasionally spilled - every doorway had a blue turquoise evil eye hanging over it-”

“That’s quite enough sharing for now, thank you.” Izuku cut in, his cheeks flaring. These weren’t things that he wanted Bakugou hearing.

“What changed?”

“Pardon?”

“What changed?” Bakugou repeated, their eyes locking. There was a beat of silence before he pressed further. “You were superstitious when you were little, but not anymore. What changed your mind?”

Ochako stopped kneading in his lap, turning her soft gaze to look up at him. Izuku bit his lip, his hands clenching in her fur. “A variety of… unfortunate circumstances.” He managed, looking downwards. He couldn’t meet Bakugou’s face, and he prayed the man would take the hint and drop the subject.

He did. “Well,” He announced, his tone slightly louder than before, “ _I_ believe in being prepared.” He cocked the shotgun in his hands with a loud, resounding click.

Kirishima laughed, reaching over to where they had lain out the warden’s pack. “I can believe in that too.” He dragged the pack over to him, unfastening the belt. “Now let’s see what our pal the warden liked to keep about him, shall we?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, to go rummaging through a dead man’s belongings.” Izuku cut in, watching Kirishima rustle through the pack interior.

“That sounds like a superstition.” Bakugou supplied.

Izuku felt his cheeks go red hot, and his reply came out jumbled and flustered. “That’s not what I meant, I’m merely suggesting that it’s… _inappropriate._ I’m sure if you were the one who had passed on, you wouldn’t like us going through your personal effects-”

“If I’m dead, I’m dead.” Bakugou clipped, folding his arms. “I won’t be around anymore to give a shit.”

Izuku opened his mouth to counter, before Bakugou held up a hand. “Wait. Hold that thought.” His hand turned into a pointed finger, and he directed it at Izuku’s chest. “ _You_ aren’t allowed to go through my weapons, no matter how dead I am.”

“And why’s that?” Izuku blinked, his eyes going wide.

“Because you’re more than likely to fucking shoot yourself by accident, that’s why.”

The heat on Izuku’s cheeks raged on. “I think if the occasion called for it, I would be able to handle myself just fine.” He wasn’t entirely helpless.

Bakugou raised a disbelieving brow. “ _Really?_ Alright, brat.” He turned the shotgun in his hands, clicking back the barrel and flipping it sideways. A few bullets fell out of the hull and into the sand. He clicked it back into place before handing it to Izuku. “Show me where the safety is.”

Izuku leaned backwards as the shotgun was roughly tossed to him. He nearly dropped it. He looked down at it disbelievingly for a few seconds before glancing back up at Bakugou, who was watching with an expectant expression. Another challenge. How hard could it be? Izuku turned the gun over in his hands, his eyes carefully training over the gun’s exterior. He knew what a safety was. It was the...thing that kept the gun from firing. Like a switch. He rolled it over in his hands again.

“Trouble?” Bakugou drawled.

Izuku pursed his lips, running his hand over the handle. He wouldn’t let this man get another one up on him. His fingers caught on an indent, and he tried to press it.

“That’s a screw.” Bakugou said, his mouth twitching.

Izuku’s teeth grit together in mild humiliation, his brow furrowing in concentration. Izuku’s eyes caught on a small knob near the trigger, and figuring it was better than nothing, he pointed to it. “This is the safety.” He said, his voice more confident than he felt.

Bakugou smirked, flashing his teeth. “ _Very_ good. Now how do you work it?”

Izuku tried twisting it, to no avail. After a few moments of that, he tried pressing it, and it clicked inwards. He looked up Bakugou, whose sneer doubled in intensity. 

“You’re right, brat.” He grinned, reclaiming the gun. He snapped the barrel open in a quick, effortless motion, reloading it. He cocked it back into place with a loud snap. “Looks like I need to reconsider.” His voice was dripping with bemused sarcasm.

Izuku didn’t say anything, instead returning to pet Ochako with excess vigor. He tried to get the flaming in his cheeks under control. Okay, so he didn’t _exactly_ know his way around a gun. But he wasn’t entirely helpless. 

There were a few moments of silence. “You know where the trigger is, right?” Bakugou asked quietly.

“ _Yes I know where-_ ”

“Ow!” Kirishima exclaimed, withdrawing his hand from the rucksack. Izuku looked over in alarm to see him sucking his index finger in his mouth. He popped it back out, inspecting it. He glanced between Izuku and Bakugou, who were staring at him incredulously. “Something sharp.” He explained, reaching back in with more care. Izuku sighed. 

With a small smile, Kirishima pulled out a large bottle of whiskey from the pack, the top having been shattered off at some point. The edges were sharp, pointed glass. A cork was the only thing that was keeping the alcohol in its compromised container. Kirishima let out a small, victorious cry. “Good show!” He shouted, holding it up to better read the label. “Well, the warden may have been an unpleasant brute, but he certainly had good taste.” He said, examining the bottle appreciatively. He uncorked it and took a single, large swig.

Izuku opened his mouth to protest the blatant abuse, when Bakugou suddenly shot up to his feet next to him, facing towards Neito’s camp. Izuku blinked, looking up at him. His shoulders were drawn, his posture tense and alert. His finger rested on the trigger of his gun, clicking the safety off. 

“Mr. Bakugou?” Izuku questioned. He started to his feet, Ochako hopping off his lap.

Bakugou held out a restraining hand, eyes still caught on something towards the center camp. After a few seconds more, he whipped his head back towards him, his red eyes flickering with fresh heat. “ _Stay here._ ” He demanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. He threw the shotgun in his hands at Kirishima, who was barely able to catch it in time with the whiskey still in his grasp. Bakugou withdrew his two revolvers and ran down towards Hamunaptra, leaving Izuku speechless in his wake.

“Why stay here?” Izuku stammered, calling after him, “What’s going on?” He tried to squint his eyes towards the direction that Bakugou had been facing. He didn’t see anything odd, just- oh. Was that...? In the dark, he could barely make out the distant shape of formless shadows, quickly moving towards the direction of Hamunaptra. Horses. Dozens of them. They looked like they were all mounted, and if he listened closely enough, he could hear the faint sounds of yelling. “We’re about to be attacked.” Izuku breathed.

“What’s that?” Kirishima asked, taking another drink from the bottle. Izuku stared at the shotgun in his brother’s lap. They were about to be attacked, and Bakugou had just blatantly given the gun to Kirishima. Izuku bit his lip, snatching the weapon out of Kirishima’s grip. He could defend himself. He could help. 

“ _Whoa_ , careful, Izuku-” Kirishima stuttered, his eyes widening, “It’s loaded and cocked to fire-”

“I’m going to help.” Izuku broke in, tossing the gun strap around his torso. Without waiting for a reply, he ran down the side of the hill. He could hear Kirishima call out faintly behind him, but he didn’t care. In front of him, Bakugou was already out of sight in the camp. He had only just made it to the bottom of the hill when the sounds of gunfire began. 

The instant he turned the corner into the camp, screams rang out all around him. Dust was being kicked up in huge clouds throughout the encampment, and the screeching sound of shrill whinnys from the horses assailed his ears. He didn’t know where to shoot. Where were all the enemies? A stray horse sailed by him, Izuku just barely threw himself forward in time to avoid being knocked over. He scrambled to his feet in the sand. Just a few yards away from him, he saw Walter and Antonin, side by side, aiming at an oncoming shadow-

Like a tidal wave, the mounted men poured into the camp, sounding battle cries. Izuku stumbled backwards as they surged in, the warriors shooting in every direction. He fumbled with the shotgun around his torso. He’d never fired before, but surely it was easy- he just had to make each shot count. He only had two bullets- 

A sudden, approaching screech had him twisting towards the oncoming noise. A man, dressed all in black thundered towards him, his horse frothing at the mouth. Without thinking, Izuku threw the gun in front of him, shooting a single, wild shot.

By some luck or grace of the gods, it actually hit. The recoil from the gun kicked powerfully into his shoulder, knocking Izuku backwards. His head - gods his poor head- hit the sand. The impact had him reeling for a few moments, and he barely looked up in time to immediately roll over to avoid the horse’s flying hooves as it sailed past him without its rider. He flipped over to his stomach, stumbling to his feet. The entire camp was entrenched in thick smoke. Some of the fumes were coming from the guns, the rest billowing from the few tents that had been set ablaze. 

Izuku’s breath caught when he caught a glimpse of Bakugou, the man’s back pressed up against one of the pillars about a hundred meters off, slightly elevated from the ground. With a confident sneer, he pivoted and fired six shots, all of them hitting their mark. Izuku watched in mute amazement as he watched the six separate riders fall from their horses. That was...amazing. Judging by the triumphant grin on the blonde’s face, he certainly thought so too. 

A new set of pounding hooves had Izuku wrenching his gaze to his left. Another lone rider astride a tall, powerful looking stallion was coming directly for him. The man had a scimitar in his dominant hand. His hair was two separate colors; red and white, but the rest of him was entrenched in black. There was absolutely no doubt in Izuku’s mind- He was coming directly for him. His eyes flicked back up to Bakugou. He was all that distance away, and even if he called out for help he may not even hear him- Izuku’s eyes widened.

There was a man creeping up behind Bakugou.

He had only a split second to react. He could either shoot the rider coming for him, or shoot the man preparing to stab the unsuspecting blonde in the back. Honestly, he didn’t even need that split second to decide.

Throwing the gun in front of him, Izuku aimed at the man behind Bakugou, firing just as the he raised his sword to stab him. The bullet grazed the warrior’s upper arm. It wasn’t enough to kill, or even badly injure him, but the cry of pain was enough to alert Bakugou to his presence. He turned around and shot him directly in the forehead. Swiveling his head, Bakugou zeroed in on where the bullet had come from; coming eye to eye with Izuku. His face morphed from shocked to suddenly livid-

At that very second, Izuku was slammed into the ground. His vision was a sudden mix of dark sand and hooves. Before he could orient himself he felt the cold press of a sword against his throat, a knee crashing into his stomach, pinning him. Izuku didn’t even think, grabbing the sword with his bare hand to keep it from slitting his throat. Blood immediately began to seep from his palm as they wrestled back and forth with the blade. Izuku stared up at the black shrouded warrior. The first thing that threw him was that the man had a vivid burn scar covering the left side of his face, his eyes two separate colors like his hair. His expression was a black mask of fury. 

“ _Min’ant? Limadha tubqi yaeud?!_ ” The man snapped, wrenching the blade closer to his throat.

Izuku hissed as the sharp edge cut deeper into his palm. The steel was just barely pressing against the skin of his neck. Dangerously close to breaking skin. He didn’t know what the man was saying. “I don’t understand.” Izuku gasped, the sword digging even deeper. 

That single plea seemed to break through, and the pressure against his throat suddenly subsided. Izuku inhaled a deep, ragged breath as the sword was pulled back. He hissed as the cut against his palm stung. He clutched it against his chest as he looked up at his attacker, whose eyes were wide blown. The previous look of anger was now replaced with shock, and even…recognition?

“No. It can’t be…” The dual colored man said, switching to english. His knee let up on Izuku ever so slightly. He looked shocked, then concerned, and then anger returned in his features. “ _You can’t be here._ ” He stressed, quickly taking the wrist of Izuku’s uninjured hand.

Izuku pulled back automatically, but the man had a firm hold on him. He kicked away from the knee that had pinned him down, scrambling to his feet, but the shrouded man merely followed him up, his grip unyielding. “ _Shukraan alaliha,_ -” The man grit, his gaze still poring over him. “I nearly killed you.”

“We’re here to uncover history-” Izuku explained, pulling against him, “Not to hurt anyone-” 

The man didn’t respond, but his eyes caught on the bleeding hand clung to Izuku’s chest. “ _Alalihat 'iinqadh li._ ” The man murmured, his voice strained. “ _'Iinaa adhytak._ ”

“I- I’m sorry,” Izuku stuttered as he shook his head, his wrist still held captive, “But I don’t understand why we can’t be here-”

He was cut short as he was suddenly being dragged towards the black stallion. The man showed no signs of letting go, tugging him towards the prancing horse as though he intended for him to get on as well. Izuku balked. Was he about to be kidnapped? He doubled his efforts to break free, his heart racing, but he wasn’t able to loosen the hold. Where was Bakugou? 

“I’m not talking about them-” The shrouded man clipped, “I’m discussing _you._ ”

“Me?” Izuku echoed, his voice shaking. What on earth was he talking about? Why couldn’t he specifically be here? Where was he going to take him? The shrouded man reached the saddle, making to haul Izuku over it.

Absolutely not.

Izuku twisted his arm, desperately yanking it backwards at an odd angle. His wrist was suddenly free. Izuku pivoted, the horse startling as he flew around the backend of it, his freedom suddenly cut short as he felt the back of his shirt being cuffed, the shrouded man cursing behind him. 

Just as immediately it was released, and Izuku fell to the ground, a series of shouts and the loud, deafening echo of gunfire sounding off behind him. The horse reared, skittering away from the noise. Izuku turned around. It was Bakugou. He’d never seen him so enraged, so thoroughly _pissed._ He squared a single, vicious punch straight across the other man’s face, nearly sending the warrior sprawling on the ground. His attempted captor seemed to quickly recover, knocking the revolver out of Bakugou’s other hand.

Izuku couldn’t tell who was winning as they went back and forth. They seemed to be equally matched, every blow that landed being returned with the same intensity. Every block rounded off with another strike- Izuku’s heart pounded as he saw four other black warriors converge onto them, no doubt intending to finish Bakugou off with sheer numbers. 

At the last possible second, Bakugou disengaged and dived towards a nearby campfire, wrenching a stick of dynamite from his belt. He swung the stick into the fire, lighting the tip of the string in a burst of light. He held it in front of him, and the men around him all effectively stopped at the sight of the TNT. Either they backed off, or he’d take them all to hell with him.

“ _Enough!_ ” The shrouded man bellowed. He waved at the group of warriors around him, who all reluctantly set down their weapons at the single command. The gunfire across the camp stopped, and even the Americans paused to watch, both Walter and Neito actively bleeding. Izuku blinked at the unquestioned obedience. That man, though visibly different from the rest of the group, had to be the one in charge. 

The supposed leader’s chest was heaving, but his voice was even and calm. He stared down Bakugou, whose expression was nowhere near as collected. He looked practically rabid. The dynamite sizzled in his hands, the string slowly reaching its end.

It was going to go off. But there was no way Bakugou would back down without another weapon. Izuku scrabbled in the sand, his hand finding one of the revolvers. He stumbled to his feet, holding it out. “Bakugou.” Izuku pleaded. 

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed, briefly flicking towards him. He didn’t move. The string was nearing completion. 

Izuku stepped close enough that he was within range of the detonation, his hand still holding the revolver, grip first, towards him. “Please.” Izuku urged. He moved even closer into range.

The leader stepped forward, his arm reaching out as though he intended to pull Izuku away from Bakugou, and subsequently away from the blast. 

It was that single movement that lurched Bakugou into sudden action. In a single motion, he ripped the string ignition out of the dynamite and yanked the revolver out of Izuku’s hands. He cocked the barrel, aiming it directly at the leader’s forehead, even as he shoved himself in front of him, cutting off his access. “ _Back off._ ” He snarled.

The leader calmly held up his hands as the surrounding warriors reached for their weapons. The gun didn’t seem to phase him. “We will shed no more blood.” He avowed. He turned his heterochromatic gaze back onto Izuku. “But that man must come with us.”

Bakugou practically _snarled_ , his finger wedged onto the trigger. “ _Over my dead body._ ” He seethed, his teeth baring.

The leader’s expression remained neutral, but Izuku could read the undercurrent of emotion. There was no question in his mind that the man would have no problem whatsoever arranging that; and they were currently outnumbered.

“Perhaps we can come to some kind of agreement.” Izuku broke in, placing a placating hand on Bakugou’s arm. If he fired, the fighting would start again. “There’s no need for more violence.” 

“Perhaps.” The leader murmured, eyeing the gun still trained on him. He turned back to Izuku, his gaze narrowing. “You must leave this place. _Fawraan._ We will give you one day. If not…” He turned his gaze to Bakugou, his tone turning harsh. “We will return.” The implication of that was clear, and Izuku could feel by the stiffness in Bakugou’s arm, he understood what that would mean as well.

Turning heel, the leader grabbed the reins of his stallion, jumping astride in a single, clear leap. “ _Almuharibun! Nahn nughadir!_ ” He called out over his shoulder. His horse started dancing underneath him as the other warriors grabbed their horses, clearing out of the camp. The leader lingered, and caught Izuku’s gaze once more. “ _One_ day.” He repeated, speaking directly to him. It was a promise. With that, he yanked his horse’s head in the direction of the retreating warriors, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust in his wake.

Izuku released the breath he was holding as Bakugou’s arm finally dropped, clipping the revolver back onto his waistbelt. He was about to turn and thank him when Bakugou’s hand suddenly shot up, gripping his chin with absurd strength, his fingers digging into him.

“What the _hell_ were you thinking?” Bakugou demanded. He roughly tilted Izuku’s head in every direction, examining him for injuries. “I told you to _fucking_ wait.”

Izuku tried to free his head from Bakugou’s grip, but to no avail. “I had to help.” He defended, trying to pull away the restraining arm, “You nearly got stabbed-”

Bakugou’s eyes zeroed in on Izuku’s hand. Before Izuku could blink his wrist was manacled and pulled away from him. Scowling, Bakugou held it in front of him, turning it palm over. Izuku couldn’t help the pained hiss that escaped his lips when he got a better look at the cut. It was deeper than he had thought it was, blood still running from it in trickles. The slice ran the whole length of his palm.

“Did that two colored freak do this to you?” Bakugou growled, his thumb absently wiping away some of the errant bits of sand clinging to the wound.

“He seemed to regret it.” Izuku replied quietly. He flinched when Bakugou gentle pulled the skin slightly apart, checking the depth.

“This is going to need stitches.” He fumed. “Dammit, this wouldn’t have happened if you had just _stayed put-_ ”

“Izuku!” A voice cried out behind them.

Bakugou and Izuku turned to see Kirishima jogging towards him, the whiskey bottle still clutched in his hands. He seemed to have gotten a gun from somewhere, and his face was covered in smoke. When he skidded to a stop in front of them, his face was relieved. “Thank the gods you’re alright, Izuku. I lost sight of you around the bend.” Kirishima hissed in sympathy when he saw the gash on his palm. “Good gods, did they do that to you? _Hey_ -!” He yelled out as Bakugou abruptly snatched the whiskey from his hands.

“I think you’ve had enough.” Bakugou said flatly, glaring at him. Turning back to Izuku, he pulled him even closer, then suddenly poured the alcohol directly on the cut.

Izuku yelped, instinctively yanking his wrist backwards. It _burned_ , and it was so incredibly painful. Tears, unbidden, pricked at the corners of his eyes. It felt like his whole hand was on fire. 

He didn’t win the tug of war. Bakugou wrenched him forward again, nearly sending Izuku sprawling into his chest. “ _Don’t_ fight me.” He snarled, his grip tightening. Izuku was once again caught up in his heat, and when he looked up, he felt immediately pinned. Bakugou’s eyes were boring into him. Red, vivid, and scorching in their intensity.

Dazed, Izuku managed to mutely nod, gritting his teeth as Bakugou poured even more alcohol onto the cut. He fought to keep from struggling. He inhaled a sharp, ragged breath. His hand was completely numb with hot, stinging pain. 

“That was a twelve year bottle.” Kirishima said wistfully, watching the excess spill onto the sand. 

“We can get you another when we’re back in Cairo.” Izuku said lamely, his hand buzzing. The night air felt fresh and cold on the wound, but did nothing to ease the painful sting. Bakugou didn’t release his hand, instead keeping it level with his chest.

“Keep this above your heart.” Bakugou instructed, his voice still rough. “It’ll help with the bleeding until I can close it.”

Izuku nodded, keeping his hand held high. Bakugou stiffened, and Izuku turned to see Neito making their way towards him, his expression furious. There was a cut above his brow that was still actively bleeding, and he had a rifle clutched by its middle in his one hand. He wouldn’t be able to shoot it, holding it the way he was, but Izuku felt Bakugou reach for his revolver nonetheless. 

“Looking for a fight?” Bakugou asked, his voice lowering a few octaves. There was a distinct warning note in it. 

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Neito snapped, storming right up to them. Bakugou moved in front of Izuku, nearly going chest to chest with Neito. Izuku gripped the back of Bakugou’s shirt with his one good hand. The sizeup was in Bakugou’s favor, but there had been enough bloodshed for one night. Fighting amongst themselves wouldn’t do anyone any good.

“Bakugou…” Izuku said quietly, his voice taking on the same pleading note as before. Bakugou twitched like he’d heard him, but he didn’t back down. Neito continued his tirade.

“You heard those cloaked savages- Why the fuck didn’t you just hand him over?” Neito spat, his face growing red.

“They’ll be back here regardless.” Izuku quipped, trying to tug Bakugou backwards. He still didn’t budge. “Whether or not I’d gone with them, that doesn’t change the fact that they don’t want us here.”

Walter and Antonin trailed behind Neito, though they didn’t seem to share in his anger. Walter seemed to have already wrapped the wound around his arm with a stray bandage. It didn’t look very clean, and the blood had already begun to stain through the fabric. “What I want to know,” Walter wondered aloud, “Is what the hell makes you so special?” There was a beat of silence as the question hovered in the air. Though he kept quiet, Bakugou seemed to want to know the answer to that too. He turned his glare from Neito to him, his red eyes searching.

“I’m...not sure.” Izuku admitted. The man had almost seemed to recognize him, but that was impossible. He’d never had contact with this...band of warriors before, nor had he ventured far from the scholarly aspects of Cairo.

“Maybe they know our father.” Kirishima chimed in. “Or I should say, more specifically, _your_ father.”

“He’s as much your father as he is mine.” Izuku corrected. His father had found Kirishima picking his pocket as a young child during one of his many adventures. Izuku had just turned four when he had brought him home. They had instantly bonded. To say that they hadn't shared a father was an outright untruth.

“Biologically speaking.” Kirishima acquiesced. 

“My father hasn’t been to Egypt in many, many years.” Izuku said hesitantly. It was possible, but unlikely. The man hadn’t been much older than he was, and would have been quite young by the time his father had last visited.

“Who the hell is your father?” Neito broke in, his patience visibly waning. “Why the fuck would a hoard of… _bandits_ care who the hell your father was?”

Izuku had the fight the urge to lower his hand and wring his wrist. He didn’t like flaunting his heritage to other people. He was immeasurably proud of his father and his accomplishments, but those deeds cast a very large shadow. One he was dedicated to surpass. But if this was somehow related, they had a right to know. “Toshinori Yagi is my father.” Izuku muttered reluctantly. 

There was a beat of stillness throughout the group.

“You’re shitting me.” Bakugou said flatly. “That loud, giant blonde guy?” He stared him up and down, as though trying to find the family resemblance. 

Neito seemed to be entirely taken aback. He floundered for a few moments. “ _The_ Toshinori Yagi? Famous explorer, founder of the three lost kingdoms-?”

“The one and only!” Kirishima proclaimed dramatically. While Izuku didn’t like sharing their family heritage, Kirishima thrived off of it. The expressions of shock never got old for him, and he was drinking them in now. “But Izuku is right,” He drew back, raising a pointed finger, “He hasn’t been here in several, several years. Besides, how would they have been able to recognize his son, who has never been to this part of Egypt?”

The logic was slow to process. “I’ll be fucking damned.” Antonin drawled, running a hand through his hair. “Isn’t Yagi set, money wise, for life?” This fact seemed to dawn on Neito as well, and he looked at Izuku with a bewildered expression. 

“What was that about Yagi?” Another voice cut in. Iida walked forward, looking a complete wreck, his hair thrown in every which direction. His glasses hung off his face, askew. It looked like he had been caught shaving during the attack, half of his face still covered in cream. Were the situation not so tense, Izuku would have laughed.

“This here brat is related to Toshinori Yagi.” Antonin replied, still sounding taken aback. He jerked his chin towards Izuku, who was still half concealed by Bakugou’s intimidating figure.

Iida didn’t seem to process that sentence for a few reeling seconds. He looked back and forth between Izuku and Antonin, as though he couldn’t put the two pieces of information together. “You’re...he…” He blinked rapidly. "His _son?_ " His eyes widened comically wide when Izuku reluctantly nodded to confirm.

“ _I have so many questions-_ ” Iida exhaled all at once. He practically ran forward, stopping only when Bakugou lazily pulled out his revolver. He didn’t aim it, but the threat was clear. Iida stared at Izuku longingly from beyond the revolver.

“I don’t have time for this.” Bakugou clipped. He twisted Izuku towards the direction of their camp, bodily moving him forward. Izuku cast an apologetic look to Iida from behind his shoulder. He would have to promise to talk to the Yuuei scholar later. He had just as many questions as Iida was certainly to have.

“Wouldn’t you rather stay closer to the rest of the group, Mr. Bakugou?” Neito called out from behind them. “In case they come back?” 

“I’d rather get shot.” Bakugou hollered.

When they finally got back to the top of the hill, Izuku was breathless. Okay, so maybe the hill wasn’t the best of plans. The view was indeed fantastic, but the trek was not easy on someone who was sore all over.

“Where’s Ochako?” Izuku asked, swiveling his head in every direction. She hadn’t followed him down to the city, had she? He turned his body back towards Hamunaptra, craning his neck to see if she had indeed followed him down. Nowhere in sight. He had to go back down to find her. Bakugou placed a restraining hand on his arm, as though he could hear what he was thinking.

“Who cares about that damn cat?” Bakugou spat, “Sit down so I can stitch that fucking cut.”

Izuku was about to snap back, and gods he wasn’t going to be nice about it, when Kirishima waved a dismissive hand. “It’s alright, Izuku, I’ve got her.” He walked over to his camel, who was still sitting peacefully a small ways away from the fire. Reaching the pack on its back, he unlaced the front.

“Oh, poor Ocha...” Izuku murmured as it dawned on him. Ochako practically flew out of the basket as it was opened, landing in the sand with an angry puff. She arched her back and hissed, and for the briefest of moments Izuku was sure she was about to go straight for Kirishima’s legs, before she caught sight of him. She bounded over, skirting between his legs. He could tell by her posture that she had been worried.

“She was mere seconds away from running down with you before I scooped her up.” Kirishima laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. Izuku noted a few claw marks lining his brother's wrists that he hadn't previously noticed. This trip was surely not strengthening him and Ochako's relationship, that was for certain.

“She clearly didn’t appreciate it, but,” Izuku thought of the dual colored man, cloaked in black and holding a sword to his throat. “It was for the best.” He admitted grudgingly. Ochako let out a small, irritated mewl from below him, vocalizing her disagreement with that statement. 

“Dammit, I said _sit._ ” Bakugou repeated, losing his patience. Izuku obediently sat down, folding his legs beneath him. He huddled closer to the fire as Ochako trotted over to his lap, settling. She lifted a questioning nose, sniffing towards his injured hand. Her tail swatted in disapproval.

“Here.” Bakugou said, lowering himself down next to him. He handed him the bottle of whiskey. Izuku took it hesitantly, giving him a quizzical look. “Drink some of it.” Bakugou explained.

Izuku’s eyes widened. “Why?”

“Because this is going to fucking hurt, that’s why. It’ll take the edge off.” 

Izuku’s mouth dropped open when he saw what was in Bakugou’s hands. A large, curved needle in the shape of a C. He looped a piece of thread through the tip, tying it in a knot. “And what, precisely, is that for?” Izuku asked, his voice shaking. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

“I told you it was going to need stitches.” Before Izuku could pull away, Bakugou shot his hand forward, reclaiming Izuku’s wrist and yanking it towards him. Izuku couldn’t help but struggle as the needle started to edge closer towards his palm.

“Can’t it heal on its own?” Izuku pleaded. He didn’t do well with needles.

“ _No._ And If you don’t hold still, this is going to hurt even _more._ ”

“ _Wait._ ” Izuku gasped. Bakugou let out an audible growl, his patience at its very end. Before he could think better of it, Izuku closed his eyes and took a huge chug of the alcohol. It was like filling his mouth with boiling, burning disinfectant. if it even had a flavor, Izuku couldn’t taste it. Forcing himself to swallow, Izuku doubled over coughing. It felt like a fireball was going down his esophagus. “Oh, gods, that tastes awful.” He rasped, clutching his chest.

“Twelve years…” Kirishima lamented again, setting himself down across from them. 

Bakugou looked a little impressed, but it was quickly overtaken by a sneer. “Don’t drink much, do you?”

“Not at all.” Izuku admitted, his voice still a little broken. The fireball had settled in his stomach, warming his entire torso. 

“You’re going to be a fucking mess within the next hour.”

“Why’s that?” Izuku looked down at the bottle in his hands. A sudden, sharp stab of pain in his hand made him yelp and instinctively pull away. Despite the knee jerk reaction, Bakugou’s grip held firm, and Izuku winced as he strung the needle once more through his skin. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he said it would hurt.

“You just shot someone with a shotgun, and you can’t even handle a fucking needle.” Bakugou grumbled, lacing another stitch.

Oh. He had, hadn’t he? “Oh gods, you’re right.” Izuku muttered under his breath. He had shot someone. Where did he even shoot that one rider? In the chest? He had fallen off of his horse. He most likely killed him. He had just killed someone. His stomach did a flip flop, and he was hit with a sudden wave of nausea.

Bakugou’s hands stilled. “Puke on me and you’ll regret it.” He warned. 

Swaying, Izuku lifted the whiskey back to his lips and took another huge swig, throwing his head back.

Bakugou swore, seizing the bottle. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?” He demanded, throwing it out of reach. Izuku coughed as the second wave of fire scalded his insides. He needed to be more than a little numb right now. 

“I’ll be fine.” Izuku wheezed. He’d seen Kirishima drink far more, and he only got a little tipsy. Why would it be any different for him?

“Yeah? I wouldn’t be so fucking sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My feelings about this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uh7tgX_Uaqs


	11. Liquid Confidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was much internal debate and contemplation over what kind of drunk Izuku is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all never fail to put a smile on my face
> 
> Short chapter, but it's the calm before the storm.

An hour later, Izuku became borderline unmanageable.

“I told you that you’d be a fucking mess.” Bakugou growled, trying to yank his shotgun free. It wasn’t loaded, but Izuku was waving it around like a fucking circus baton. “Let _go_ , dammit!”

Izuku giggled as the gun was wrenched out of his hands. The movement threw him forward and he toppled into Bakugou’s lap, his head spinning. Without missing a beat, he threw both of his arms around the man’s broad torso, wrapping him in a powerful bear hug. 

Bakugou viciously swore, grabbing Izuku’s upper arms to try and pull him off. For a drunk his hold was surprisingly strong, and Izuku giggled even louder as they wrestled.

“You’re sooo _waaarm._ ” Izuku tittered happily, his words slurring heavily. He nestled the side of his cheek into Bakugou’s abdomen, clutching the back of his shirt in a tight knot.

“Dammit, Kirishima, fucking _take_ him.” Bakugou snapped, untangling his hands. He grabbed Izuku by the wrists, pushing him away as he continued laughing.

Kirishima yawned, rolling over in his sleeping blanket. “You got him drunk, he’s your problem.” He mumbled, half asleep.

Bakugou let out a harsh stream of curses. Izuku was still squirming in his grip, a beaming smile plastered on his face. His cheeks were flushed with the alcohol, his green eyes sparkling and unfocused. He giggled at Bakugou’s expletives. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” He lilted, swaying forward again. He caught Bakugou’s gaze, his smile widening. “You certainly kissed _me._ ” His giggling doubled in intensity. 

Bakugou crossed Izuku’s wrists, pinning them together. This was the second time the brat had brought it up, unprompted. “That again?” He leered, his scowl twitching slightly. “Did that kiss really matter that much?”

“Mmmmm…” Izuku slurred, “I’ve had better.”

That was an unexpected answer. His ego stung. Better? From who? Fucking when? “I should’ve let you polish off the bottle.” Bakugou quickly snapped, his chest puffing out. “I’d prefer you knocked out.”

Izuku exhaled loudly, swaying backwards. “I wouldn’t have-” He insisted, his eyes widening. “Unlike my _brother_ , Mr. Bakugou, I know when to say _no._ ” 

Bakugou let go of his wrists as Izuku continued to topple backwards. He fell on his back, huffing out a breath of air in surprise. After a few seconds of processing, he seemed to realize he was now laying down, and the chuckling restarted. 

“Unlike your brother, brat, I don’t know what the hell to make of you.” Bakugou clipped, watching Izuku struggle to roll over and sit up.

“Oh, I’m _sure._ ” Izuku beamed, sitting up. “You’re probably wondering -” He waved his hands nonsensically, “What a _place_ like me is doing in a _man_ like this.”

Bakugou raised an eyebrow. “Something like that.”

“Well,” Izuku scooched towards him until they were sitting side by side again. He swayed forward dramatically, and Bakugou quickly placed two hands on his shoulders to keep him from falling into him again. “Egypt is in my _blood._ ” Izuku explained, smiling broadly. His misty, emerald green eyes flickered up to his, and Bakugou was suddenly transfixed. How the hell was this brat able to do this to him? “You see, my _father_ was a _faaaaa_ mous explorer-” Izuku continued.

“That you already told me.” Bakugou broke in. The flush on Izuku’s cheeks contrasted with his freckles, and Bakugou fought the urge to trace them with his fingers.

Izuku kept smiling. “Mmmm, I _did_ , didn’t I?” He blinked slowly, reaching up to clutch either one of Bakugou’s wrists. Bakugou was still holding him by his shoulders to keep him upright. “But perhaps you _don’t_ know- both my mother and father were of _Egyptian_ descent. It wasn’t until they had _me_ that we moved to London.” He grinned fondly, his eyes glazing over as though he was obscuring himself in the memories. “Though having a kid certainly didn’t lessen their thirst for adventure.”

“I get your parents, brat, but what the hell are _you_ doing here?”

Directing himself back to him, Izuku let out a sudden, indignant huff. Swaying wildly, he teetered to his feet, nearly falling over. Bakugou, cursing, grabbed his hips to steady him. Izuku angrily swatted his hands away. “Now I may not be an explorer, or adventurer, or a _gunfighter_ , Mr. _Bakugou-_ ” He inhaled deeply, “But I am _proud_ of what I am.” His words slurred slightly, but they were confident. 

Bakugou kept his hands out, ready to catch him if he fell. His eyes narrowed slightly. “And what are you?”

“I…” Izuku started, “I…” He rested his fists on either side of his waist, jutting his chin forward in a heroic stance. “I... am a _librarian._ ” He announced proudly.

Bakugou blinked, and couldn’t help the smile that slowly crept past his scowl. This brat was a pure vision. Losing his balance, Izuku fell to his knees in front of him. Before Bakugou could stop him, Izuku placed his hands on either side of his face, slightly squishing his cheeks together. The glazed, unfocused haze in Izuku’s eyes was suddenly set with a spark of determination. He leaned forward until their faces were just a mere foot apart. “I’m going to kiss you now, Mr. Bakugou.” Izuku murmured, the words jumbling together. 

He should stop this now, Bakugou thought. He was a mercenary. He didn’t get involved with contracts. But fuck, he suddenly realized, he really fucking wanted this. Reaching up, he gently manacled Izuku’s wrists, holding them in place.

“No you won’t.” Bakugou replied, his voice lowering a few octaves. 

Despite his drunkenness, Izuku felt a spark of sudden awareness jolt through the haze. The red of Bakugou’s eyes were suddenly very intense, piercing right through him. “I won’t?” He echoed, his voice going soft.

“Not unless you call me Katsuki.” Bakugou affirmed, moving closer. He pulled Izuku towards him, mere inches separating them now. From this close, he could see faint flecks of gold in Izuku’s faceted eyes. The peerless green traveled down to his mouth.

Izuku wet his lips, absently stroking Bakugou’s cheek with his thumb. “Katsuki…” He tested, his voice shaking slightly.

Bakugou grinned, showing his teeth. “That’s it.”

“Katsuki…” Izuku repeated, closing his eyes. In a smooth motion he swayed forward, closing the gap between them. Reeling, Bakugou tilted his head for better access.

Right as something sharp and pointed sunk into his thigh.

“ _Fuck-_!” Bakugou snapped at the sudden pain, rearing backwards. Twisting his head, he saw Ochako firmly attached to his leg, her eyes murderous and fangs sunk deep into the skin. “ _Damn this cat-_ ” Bakugou snarled, scruffing her. She let go of him with a furious yowl as he tossed her back towards the camels. She landed on her feet, her hair standing on end. 

Something soft and warm thumped on his chest. Bakugou looked down. Izuku had continued to swing forward, landing right in the middle of his chest. He looked to be fast asleep. “Are you kidding me?” Bakugou snapped. He had passed out? _Now?_

He shook the brat’s shoulders slightly in frustration. Izuku didn’t stir. Cursing softly, Bakugou rolled him over in his arms. Izuku pitched towards him, his body soft and pliable beneath his hands. He was well and truly conked out, by every means.

Ochako hissed, looking ready to charge again. He gave the cat a black look. He’d never felt so jipped in his fucking life. Muttering angrily to himself, Bakugou lifted Izuku into his arms, carrying him over to his saddle blanket. He set him down with an irritated huff, resisting the urge to stare as he curled up contentedly, mumbling a few incoherent phrases. 

It's not like any of it mattered anyway, he told himself. He wouldn’t remember anything in the morning. He picked up an extra blanket and tossed it over him. Ochako bounded over, settling herself next to Izuku’s face. She watched Bakugou intently, her tail swatting in warning.

Bakugou grit his teeth, setting himself down a fair distance away. He hauled his shotgun back over to his lap, roughly cocking open the barrel and setting in a few rounds with unnecessary force. He did the same with his revolvers. He’d be sleeping lightly tonight, on guard in case the warriors came back.

Yeah, he was going to be exhausted, but he certainly wouldn’t envy Izuku in the morning. Glancing over, he watched as the drunk scholar slept, his face still slightly red. He heard his voice echo in his mind. _‘Katsuki…’_

Bakugou swore, running a hand through his hair. The way Izuku had whispered his name kept replaying over and over in his head. 

Yup, he was fucked.

 

\--------------------------------- _The Next Morning_

 

The first thing that drifted into his awareness was exhaustion. Izuku softly groaned, rolling his head over. He wanted to keep sleeping. He could sleep forever, he was so exhausted. But the movement sent a wicked, burning pulse through his head. He flinched at the sharp throb, willing his eyes to remain shut. If he fell back asleep he wouldn’t have to deal with this headache. But his body had other plans. The ache continued, even if he stayed still, the pain beating to the rhythm of his heartbeat. There would be no going back to sleep.

Izuku let out another small groan, palming his head. Slowly but surely, he cracked open his eyes. The light added another fresh surge of pain, and he had to wait several seconds before it went down enough that he could open them fully. Was it daytime already?

“Ho! The recovering dipsomaniac awakens!” Kirishima exclaimed. Izuku winced as the noise sent another wave of discomfort cascading through his brain. “Oh dear.” Kirishima mused, watching Izuku struggle to sit up, “And looking significantly worse for wear, might I say.” He added sympathetically.

“Dipsomaniac would not be the term I’d use.” Izuku said roughly, his voice grating from misuse. “Although I’d settle for _idiot._ ” Whiskey had been a terrible idea. He felt incredibly dizzy, and his throbbing head wasn’t doing him any favors. Perhaps a walk would help? He tried to get up.

“Sit.” A low voice commanded. Izuku looked over to see Bakugou making his way towards him, a canteen in hand. His face was indecipherable.

Izuku abandoned his attempt to get up. He wasn’t incredibly motivated to move in the first place, anyhow. A soft form flitted under his arm, and Izuku looked down to see Ochako making her way into his lap. He stroked her gratefully. “What time is it?” He asked, covering his eyes. Keeping them hidden from the sun helped a little with the throb.

“Early evening.” Kirishima replied. “We’ve got about four hours before night starts to fall.”

What? Evening? He’d been asleep all day? He unmasked his eyes, quickly looking over at Neito’s campsite, ignoring the responding pulse. They had certainly been busy, by the looks of it. Men hauling crates of stone and other unknown materials filtered through the columns. There was no telling what they had uncovered. “I slept through a whole days worth of research-” Izuku hissed, mentally slapping himself. All because of that damn whiskey. “It’s any wonder why a sane man would choose to get drunk on purpose.” Izuku ranted, mostly to himself.

“Normal people don’t drink half a bottle of whiskey at once their first time.” Bakugou shot back. “It’s really not a fucking mystery why you’re hungover.”

Kirishima laughed. “Well, best way to get over a hangover is to drink a little bit more.” He reached over to a pack beside him. “Luckily for you, one of the diggers over yonder was willing to trade me a decent brandy for just a few notes-”

“Put that shit away.” Bakugou snarled at him. He tapped the top of Izuku’s head with his canteen. “Finish this.”

Izuku accepted the canteen, unscrewing it. He warily took a small sip, relief coursing through him when he discovered it was water. He gratefully drank a few large gulps. The water felt good going down. “Thank you.” Izuku smiled, twisting the cap back on. He went to hand it back, but stopped when he saw the peculiar look on Bakugou’s face. He looked almost...wary? A sudden, damning thought flitted through Izuku’s head, and his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “I didn’t…?” He started, his eyes narrowing as he focused. “I didn’t do anything weird last night, did I?”

Bakugou crossed his arms. His expression remained still. “How much do you remember?”

Izuku blinked, trying to recall last night’s events. He looked down at his palm, where Bakugou had stitched him up. The wound was still closed, the skin slightly pink but healing. It didn’t hurt today as much as he would have expected it to. He had remembered Bakugou sewing him up, him taking a few extra swigs of whiskey, and then…

“Nothing, past this.” Izuku admitted, showing him his palm. Bakugou’s eyes inspected the cut slowly, before he looked away. His shoulders seemed to untense. 

“You keeled over the second the whiskey kicked in.” Bakugou said smoothly, not looking at him.

Kirishima snickered, quickly turning it into a cough when Bakugou sent a murderous glare his direction. 

“Huh.” Izuku murmured, returning to pet Ochako. He would have sworn there was something else that happened last night, but he couldn’t think clearly through the painful haze in his head. He stroked Ochako a few more times before lifting her out of his lap, setting her gently aside. The water helped a little with his headache. “I have to go see how far Neito and Iida have managed to get.” Izuku said, getting his feet under him. Yes, the water had definitely helped, but the headache would likely plague him for an hour or two longer.

“Don’t bother.” Bakugou clipped. “We’re leaving.”

At that, Izuku startled, turning to face him. “Leave?” He echoed, his voice colored in shock. They couldn’t leave - they had literally just gotten here, there was so much work yet to be done.

“Did the alcohol make you forget the fucking horsemen, too?” Bakugou growled. Izuku watched as he slung one of their rucksacks over his shoulder. Following his gaze, Izuku saw that the camels were mostly packed, his things being the only exception.

Kirishima stepped towards him, placing a soothing hand on his shoulder. “We can’t risk those men coming back here, Izuku.” He explained softly. “They said they would give us a day to leave, or they would come back. You know what will happen-” 

Izuku waved his hand away angrily. “We’ll be better prepared this time.” He insisted, shouldering past his brother. He followed Bakugou to his camel, watching as the man wordlessly tied the pack to the saddle. “The underground of Hamunaptra is literally a maze. Those men could search for days and still not find us.”

Bakugou blatantly ignored him, pushing past to grab his own bag by the dwindled remains of the campfire.

Izuku felt his back straighten, a slice of his temper sparking a burst of defiance. He was _not_ the one in charge. This was his decision, and he refused to be bossed around. “If you’re too _coward_ to stay, Katsuki,” He blurted, trailing behind him, “Then you can leave _yourself._ ”

Bakugou stopped dead.

The regret was immediate. His fingers went to his lips. He’d never used Bakugou’s first name before, he had no idea why he’d suddenly said it. And those words… He didn’t mean them. Kirishima’s eyes widened.

When Bakugou finally swiveled to face him, Izuku’s heart froze. His expression was absolutely terrifying. His lip curled back in a vicious snarl, revealing the sharp point of his canines. “ _I’m no coward._ ” He seethed, his hands tightening into fists.

He should stop now, Izuku thought. He should to apologize. He watched as Bakugou’s muscles clenched threateningly. Any sane person would be intimidated. But somehow, instinctively, he knew that he wouldn’t hurt him. He pushed. “Then prove it.” Izuku asserted, his voice more confident than he felt, “Don’t let those men scare us out of here.”

Bakugou advanced on him, temper flaring even further when Izuku refused to give ground. “There’s a difference between being scared and being _smart._ ” He fumed, towering over him.

Their size difference was palpable. Izuku had to look up to maintain eye contact, his head just barely reaching the top of Bakugou's shoulders. He had a sudden flashback to when they had first been boarding the river cruise. Bakugou had used his height to intimidate him then, but it wouldn’t work twice.

“The Americans look like they’re staying.” Izuku pointed out, nodding his chin towards them. “It’s a lot smarter to stay in a large group than to wander off through the desert at night, hoping that the warriors are true on their word, wouldn’t you say?” 

Bakugou’s chest puffed out, his eyes narrowing. His snarl didn’t lessen. He looked ready to snap something back when Kirishima suddenly appeared between them, holding out a placating hand on either side. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, let’s cool our heads, shall we?” He smiled, giving them both a pleading look. “We’re all making valid points here, but-” Kirishima watched helplessly as Izuku abruptly turned heel, striding towards the American’s camp with an angry huff.

Bakugou let out an inhuman growl, looking ready to storm after him. “ _Don’t turn your back on me-_ ” He shouted after him. Kirishima had to grab him by the neck of his shirt to keep him from following. Bakugou very nearly threw him off his feet when he surged forward, and Kirishima had to dig his boots into the sand to keep his ground.

Izuku kept walking, ignoring the angry shouts from Bakugou behind him. He could hear Kirishima’s calming voice drone on behind him in between yells. He was a little surprised Bakugou hadn’t followed him, but he supposed Kirishima was doing his best to prevent that. He drew a few curious stares from a few errant diggers as he walked through the buzzing camp. Ochako followed behind him. 

He wasn't going to argue about this with Bakugou. The man had helped him on multiple occasions these past few days, but that didn't make him his keeper. He came here for a reason, and he would see it through to the end. He skirted past several tents, his eyes grazing on the crates that were lining the camp. What, exactly, was in them? Neito didn't treasure knowledge, he treasured, well, _treasure._ So far, he hadn't seen any trace of a treasure room... but then again, he hadn't the opportunity to do much exploring, either.

After a minute of searching, he finally found Iida. The man had been desperate to speak with him yesterday. Rather than eavesdropping or snooping, it would be far easier for him to scope out the day’s successes by meeting with the bespectacled UA scholar. The man smiled broadly when he saw him.

“Mr. Toshinori.” Iida grinned, immediately bounding over to take his hand. He shook it with unnecessary energy. 

“Please,” Izuku said quickly, “Call me Izuku.” _Anything but Toshinori._

Iida didn’t seem to pick up on his discomfort, and motioned to his tent behind him. It was set up like a small office, though it lacked the necessary furniture. Following him in, Izuku sat down on one of the offered pillows. Ochako immediately found her way into his lap. Between them was a blanket covered in an assortment of papers and drawings. He peered over them curiously. 

“Just some of the work I’ve done so far.” Iida explained excitedly. He fanned out a few of them, pointing to a few of the sketches. They were decently drawn, Izuku mused, but lacking in a few key details. He could feel Iida watch him as he scanned over the papers. “Mr. Toshi-, ah, Izuku,” Iida quickly corrected himself, “I had been hoping to see you earlier today, but I was told you were unavailable-”

“Yes, I wasn’t entirely well.” Izuku explained. It wasn’t exactly a lie.

“I see.” Iida said, his eyebrows raising, “I hope it wasn’t due to the unfortunate circumstance last night-?”

“Not completely.” Izuku admitted, turning his palm over to show him the stitches. “Though I didn’t escape unscathed, either.” 

Iida looked over the wound in surprise. “Terrible.” He murmured to nobody in particular, regarding it for a few seconds longer. He blinked, regaining himself. “How rude of me though- would you care for tea, perhaps?” His eyes flicked down to Ochako. “Although we don’t have any milk for your cat.”

Izuku smiled fondly. He liked Iida. He felt a little bad for taking advantage. “Tea would be wonderful, thank you. Please don’t fret over the milk.” It wasn't particularly good for cats anyway, so it worked out.

Iida dipped his head agreeably, turning to fiddle with a small metal pot just outside of the tent. During the few seconds he was occupied, Izuku took the chance to quickly shift through some of the written papers. Most of them were translations of the hieroglyphs inside the Hamunaptra interior. Nothing too fantastic or mind blowing. Satisfied, Izuku shifted them back to their original state, pausing when a glint of metal caught his eye in the far corner of the tent. Looking up, his breathing stopped.

_It was the book._

Something in him soared. It was calling to him. Izuku’s eyes dilated. The pages were black stone, the binding a solid silver. Indented in its center was a slot for a key shaped like the sun. His body began to quiver. Why was he reacting this way? Every nerve in his body screamed for him to go over and claim it.

“Here you are.” Iida said pleasantly, offering him his tea cup.

Izuku didn’t immediately respond, and Iida’s brows twinged slightly in question. A second passed before he was able to shake himself free of the book’s spell, and he wrenched his gaze away. “Yes, thank you.” He said quickly, his voice strained. Iida, thankfully, appeared oblivious, recovering like nothing had happened. The teacup began to shake in his hands, his blood singing. In his lap, Ochako mewled worriedly, looking up at him with questioning eyes. He started stroking her roughly, fighting an internal war.

“Well, I certainly have many questions for you, of course.” Iida continued, tinkering with his own cup. He took a small sip. “But I will say, few would willingly subject themselves to an ‘interrogation’, if you will.” He laughed at his word use, settling the teacup back in its dish. “So I would certainly have to query as to the meaning of your visit- though please don’t think in the least I wouldn’t be sated with knowing you were here solely to quell my curiosity.”

Izuku felt briefly dumb, his eyes wandering back to the book. Who? What was happening? He tried to quickly re-orient himself, tearing his gaze away. He tried to think quickly. “Actually,” His voice sounded a little harsh, even to him, as he reached into his pant belt, retrieving his journal. He fingered to the correct page, handing it over. “I thought you would be relieved to know I was able to copy down the black door’s marking before it was destroyed.”

Iida nearly dropped his teacup. “Yes! Of course!” He quickly accepted the offered book, setting his teacup down roughly in the sand, the contents nearly tipping out. He scanned over the markings excitedly. “Of course you would have, the son of Toshinori Yagi would have certainly thought to have done that, I should never have doubted-”

Izuku felt his eyes wander back to the book’s resting position as Iida continued muttering excitedly to himself. It wasn’t the Book of Life, like he had assumed they’d find, but the Book of the Dead. It made no sense - they must have been swapped, but for what purpose? His arms began to tremble. It took all of his willpower to not reach out and grab it. 

A sharp sting tore his attention downwards, and he saw Ochako had lightly mouthed his hand. His fingers had knotted in her hair, gripping so hard his knuckles were white. He let go with a shaky breath, reaching for his tea. He downed the whole cup in one go. The book was having a profound effect on him, and for the life of him he didn't know why. He had been dreaming of finding it for all his life, yes, but this was something else entirely.

“Perhaps you would like to go over these markings with me, Izuku.” Iida said warmly, recalling his attention. He traced the letterings with his fingers. “We would cover far more ground if we both worked on it.”

The close proximity to the book was slowly driving him wild. _Say no._

“Yes.” Izuku replied.

“Excellent!” Iida exclaimed, setting the journal down in the center of the papers. He reached over and procured a pen and a stack of papers. “Obviously, due to my contract with Neito, I can’t go over _everything_ with you, but this is well within reason.”

“Of course.” Izuku said weakly, looking over at the book longingly. 

Iida eyed his empty teacup. “Ah, and it seems more tea is in order.” He said happily, picking both of their cups up. He strolled back over to the tea kettle, humming to himself as he refilled them. 

Izuku gulped heavily, massaging his still aching forehead with his fingers. These next few hours were going to be a trial. He turned to look outside of the tent, his eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of Bakugou. He bit his lip. It looked like he hadn’t followed, no doubt thanks to his brother, though he wouldn’t put it past the man to suddenly show up and drag him away. 

“There we are.” Iida said cheerily, handing him back the set. Forcing a smile on his face, Izuku accepted it with a grateful incline of his head. He took a much smaller sip than before as Iida settled himself back down across from him. “Now then,” Iida announced, clapping his hands together, “Shall we get started?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's an author's note - just a bit of contemplation. As far as Bakugou and Izuku's characterization goes, I always imagined their personalities mellowing and evolving with their age, which is why it may be different from the norm.
> 
> I've never written anything of this length before, so hopefully I do this all correctly- but if I manage it, we'll see some character growth. 
> 
> Fun fact, 55,000 to 150,000 words is the length of a full book. Therefore, when someone asks what you last read, 'fanfiction' is a viable answer. I'm totally not saying that because I had to defend myself in front of an entire college class. That's definitely not what happened.


	12. The Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamunaptra turns into an Iron Maiden concert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine me at the wheel of a car. We're driving calmly and steadily down the highway, going a reasonable sixty mph. Out of nowhere, I throw both of my hands on the steering wheel, gripping it so tight my knuckles turn white, and I violently veer the car in the entirely opposite direction, slamming my foot on the accelerator. All of the passengers are screaming.
> 
> That's how I felt writing this.
> 
>  
> 
> -

By the time Iida was satisfied, several hours had passed. Initially, he hadn't thought himself up to it, but the longer he stayed the more beneficial he realized it was. Iida had went down to examine the mummy they had found himself, and had found scarab skeletons in the interior. Something he had completely missed. Part of Izuku was glad a second pair of eyes had found what he hadn't initially, but the other part stung in the face of competition.

“Scarabs.” Iida explained, “The flesh eating variety; they've been extinct for so long it’s devolved into legend. Littered throughout the whole bottom of the sarcophagus. It’s said they can live for years living off the flesh of a corpse.” He handed Izuku one of the shells, adjusting the glasses on his nose. Despite the horrible stories surrounding the creatures, he seemed perfectly at ease handling them. “They pierce the skin with their pincers and burrow under the skin, eating you from the inside out.” 

Izuku examined it closely. It was fossilized at this point, but the two massive, wickedly sharp pincers remained. He ran his fingers slightly over the serrated edges, the curve still so sharp that even the lightest of pressure would easily slice skin. The idea of being eaten by one of these… he shuddered. This manner of execution was saved for none but the most vile. “They had thrown these in while he was still alive.” He ventured, handing the shell back over. If this was true, then judging off of the inscriptions on the sarcophagus, and the manner he was buried… “He must have suffered the Hom-Dai.” Izuku breathed, his brow furrowing. It was unheard of.

“The worst and most brutal of all ancient curses.” Iida affirmed. “Reserved for only the most evil of blasphemers.” He took a huge gulp of tea, pulling out one of his more rare textbooks. Detailed information on this ancient curse had been scarce, as at the time only the upper echelon of the society would have possessed the knowledge to conduct it. “It is said that if a victim of the Hom-Dai should ever arise, they would bring with them the ten plagues of Egypt.” Iida recited, following the line with his finger. He cleared his throat, looking remorseful. “We’ve found other evidence of this curse in the tombs above. A chest, that warned of an evil that would assimilate the flesh and organs of those who opened it. They’re probably related.”

He had _told_ Neito opening the chest was a bad idea. The textbook offered little more advice than that, though, the section regarding the Hom-Dai just a mere paragraph in length. The book alone had been near impossible to acquire.

Izuku finished his tenth cup of tea, the caffeine worsening the shaking in his limbs. Normally this manner of incredible information would have called the entirety of his attention, but the book was still nabbing at his awareness, dragging his concentration away with it. All this talk of legends and curses... He didn’t believe in them, personally, but these were massive discoveries. His previous assessment of Iida’s notes were wrong. The man was making great strides in wrestling the truth out of Hamunaptra. He had to do better to keep up. That would all start with the book.

Looking out of the tent flap, his heart sank. It was rapidly getting dark, the sky mellowing to a dark orange mist, the sun no doubt already half descended in the horizon. He needed to return to camp before Kirishima and Bakugou started looking for him. That aside, Iida had already divulged more than enough information.

“I appreciate you having me.” He said suddenly, standing up. “We should talk again soon.” His tone was polite, but curt, not wanting to risk being roped in again. Without prompting, his eyes flicked back to where the book still rested, his body still crying out for it.

Iida smiled, standing with him. The abruptness of his departure didn't seem to phase him. “Yes, it was an honor. We should speak again tomorrow.”

Izuku nodded in assent, quickly turning to leave. It took all of his willpower to pull himself away from the tent, the book left sitting in its interior. It was like leaving a piece of his soul behind. He once again pictured Neito blowing it up, smashing it to pieces, with the same potent decimation that had scourged both the black door and the inner Anubis gate. The images in his head felt vivid, visceral. He could see the book laying shattered on the ground, the desert sand obscuring it until it was forever lost to time. His blood pounded thick and heavy at the notion.

No, he wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ just leave it. He wandered through the darkening camp for a short while, wringing his wrists, formulating a plan. He had never plotted before, had never really had a need to. But it didn't have to be perfect, just crudely effective.

His gut clenched. This went against his moral code. Simply thinking about this was enough to make him feel guilty. 

Regardless, it only took him a few minutes of intense thinking to formulate a rough plan. The logic was simple, yet effective. The horsemen said that they would be back tonight, and so everyone was preparing for the oncoming confrontation. Diggers were rushing throughout the shadows of Hamunaptra, rifles in hand. Everyone would be occupied with the looming threat. When night came, and everyone was resting for the inevitable fight, none would be up save for a few sentries who would be on the lookout for external threats, not internal.

Thus, it would be the perfect time to… ehm, _borrow_ the book. 

“We’ll come back later tonight, Ocha.” Izuku informed her, making up his mind. He'd heard stories of his father succeeding on much poorer odds, so this play was certain to be in his favor.

Ochako peered up at him, her long tail waving intently. _Bad idea_ , she seemed to say. Normally he would have chided her for doubting him, but deep down he knew it wasn't arguable. This was a terrible idea, but what other choice did he have? Somewhere deep down, he instinctively knew the book was his. He had to have it, no matter the means.

A few hours ago, he would have scolded his brother for stealing, and now here he stood, plotting his very own heist. “Hypocrisy at its finest.” Izuku sighed, muttering to himself. If everything went according to plan, he'd make a point to never let his brother find out about this. He'd lose all ground in their future arguments.

He rounded a corner, reaching the centerpiece of the lost city. The tall, eery spire where the remnants of the black door still lay scattered loomed over him, its shadow sending a sudden chill through his blood.

“There you are!” Kirishima called out, appearing near the rubble. With a small smile, he affectionately patted him on the shoulder, urging him towards the campfire. His gaze lingered on his brother's face, concern drawing his features. There were slight circles starting to appear under Izuku's eyes, like the stress of the journey was finally starting to weigh on him.

Not wanting to make him more anxious, but feeling like he should voice it all the same, Kirishima leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “Gods, I thought you’d up and vanished. Bakugou was _this_ close to storming off and finding you himself-”

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Izuku explained, his mouth turning up in a gentle grin. “I was discussing a few things with Iida.” The slight smile on his face was honest, and incredibly placating.

Kirishima sighed and smiled fondly, then waved his hand dismissively to indicate all was forgiven. Entire nations could be destroyed with his brother's sweet, innocent smile. He was difficult to get angry at, and Kirishima was personally surprised Bakugou managed it anyhow.

As they approached the spire, Izuku immediately zeroed in on Bakugou's figure, leaning up against the faded limestone and fiddling with the mechanisms of his rifle. His eyes flicked up as they approached, his red eyes settling on him. 

Izuku wasn’t able to keep eye contact for more than a few seconds, and he started fidgeting with his fingers. It seemed that Bakugou’s earlier upset had been successfully reigned in via the smooth talking of his brother, but his eyes were still intense and dominating.

There were a few beats of uncomfortable silence. “So, who’ll take first watch?” Kirishima ventured, looking between them. Personally, he'd like to curl up and sleep for a whole decade, if only circumstances would let him, though realistically he doubted any of them would be getting anything more than a couple stolen hours of shut eye.

A watch? Izuku looked up at sky, biting his lip. Having a watch threw a serious wrench in his plans. Already his window of opportunity was approaching. The light had almost completely faded by now, the sun just about gone and the stars already beginning to appear in the darkening horizon. They weren’t as visible this deep in the city. Men were lighting torches already, the camp still lightly abuzz with noise and activity. 

“I’ll take first watch. We switch every four hours.” Bakugou answered easily. He wasn't feeling tired in the least. The horsemen were most likely to attack once it was dark, and judging by the time they had attacked the night before, it would likely be early. He wanted to be fully awake when it happened.

There was a tension beginning to form in the air, and the reality of what tonight would mean started to wash over Izuku. By staying, he was asking Bakugou to yet again place his life on the line for him. He’d wanted this all his life, but, he couldn’t shake the sudden feeling that he was maybe being selfish.

“Fair enough, I’ll start the fire.” Kirishima said agreeably. Hopes of sleeping for the desired decade evaporated just as quickly as they came, and though the prospect of sleeping for now was nice, waking up just a few hours after drifting under seemed unbearable. There wasn't even any coffee to help him make the transition.

Whistling to himself, he went to retrieve the flint from their buckled luggage. Their camels were sitting cross legged nearby, the bags on their backs still fully packed. Bakugou had demanded they stay that way. While Izuku had won the argument for staying, there wasn't a doubt in Kirishima's mind Bakugou would tie his brother to a camel and bail if things got too messy.

Ochako had already found her way onto Izuku’s camel, kneading contentedly on the animal’s back. She watched him with a prim, neutral expression as he obtained the needed components to start the campfire. She still hadn't fully forgiven him.

After a few minutes of messing with the flint, Kirishima had the fire started. Nobody said anything as they settled, the only sound between them the snapping and crackling of the flames. After thirty minutes of silence, Izuku heard his brother finally doze off, his head lolled over on the limestone walls. He envied his brother's ability to doze off, even with the rising threat. The dark usually brought a sense of peace and calm, but not tonight. Tonight it seemed to house unseen dangers, and the growing expectation carried away any hope of sleep with it. 

Izuku chanced a glance over at Bakugou, who also didn’t appear tired. Every small echo of a noise seemed to alert him, his eyes scanning both the camp and the visible horizon. He reminded Izuku of the jaguars he had seen at the Cairo city port; His eyes steadfast and predatory, scoping out potential prey.

Bakugou seemed to notice him staring, and that predatory red moved to contemplate him. “Not sleeping?” He asked, his voice low.

No. He had no plans of sleeping. The second he had a chance he was going to quick sneak away and get the book before anyone noticed. The thought was immediately followed with familiar guilt. “Too nervous.” Izuku explained. It wasn’t a lie. He glanced over at the rest of the camp, nervously following the movement of the designated sentries. 

As though sensing conflict, Bakugou’s eyes narrowed every so slightly. “You know better than to go wandering off, right?”

“What reason would I have to wander off?” He queried, trying to force a bit of disbelief in his voice.

His acting was undoubtedly artificial, and Bakugou shifted his sitting position, scrutinizing him. His suspicion had undoubtedly been aroused, and Izuku mentally chastised himself for his poor lying. 

“You tell me.” Bakugou countered, his voice pitched low. 

Time for a topic change. His mind went to the first thing he could think of, something that had been bothering him. Shooting that rider the other night had made him sick, and the rider’s body being thrown backwards from the recoil kept replaying in his head. “Tell me about your first time.” Izuku asked softly. 

Bakugou interpreted that question in an entirely different light. His eyes widened, and a mile wide smirk lit his face. “ _My first time?_ ” He repeated, his voice lifting an octave.

A split second later Izuku realized his mistake. “ _No_ , no, that’s not what I-” He stuttered, trying to quickly fix the words, “I meant your first time shooting someone.” He let himself take in a breath before finishing. “Or, killing someone, to be more specific.”

The amused sneer didn’t entirely leave his face, but he seemed genuinely intrigued by the question. “The first time I offed someone… fuck.” As he thought about it, Izuku let out a relieved huff of air. He seemed to have sufficiently changed the conversation. After a few moments, Bakugou snapped his fingers. “Had to be the sorry son of a bitch who tried to mug me off the port of Alexandria.”

That piece of information piqued his own interest, and Izuku straightened a little bit. Alexandria was close to Cairo. “How old were you?” And more importantly, he thought, “How did you… deal with it?” His voice quieted at the obvious admission. 

The small pleading note in Izuku’s tone seemed to catch Bakugou’s attention, but his gaze didn’t soften. “I was eleven. Wasn’t broken up about it either.” His hand reached into his pocket, and he pulled out a small switchblade. In quick movements, he unlatched the blade, spinning it a few times skillfully in demonstration before snapping it shut again. “Bastard had it coming. Besides, I knew my way around a knife long before he had the bad luck to cross me.” He sneered, tucking it away.

Not exactly helpful advice, but his age… He had still been a child. Izuku hadn’t been allowed anywhere near his father’s weapon collection at that age, let alone use them. “Your parents were alright with this?” He asked, curious.

“Never had them. Grew up in an orphanage, same city.” Bakugou responded easily. He didn’t seem bothered by it. “Left that shithole as soon as I could fend for myself.”

“I see.” Izuku nodded, clearly troubled. He couldn’t imagine growing up without his parents. It seemed like a terrible way to live, isolated like that, and he regarded the blonde soldier with newfound understanding. It was no wonder the man had a dominating, harsh exterior. Fending for yourself from a young age changed someone. He paused, chewing the information in his head. 

“Were you ever lonely?” Izuku finally asked after a few minutes.

Bakugou scoffed, kicking the edge of the fire with his boot. The flames sparked, illuminating his face in an ominous light. “Mercenaries like me don’t need anyone.” He said with finality.

Izuku didn’t believe that for one second. “Why do you think that is?” He asked, curious. Surely he didn’t really think that was true. Everyone needed someone. 

“You can’t trust anyone.” He growled, his expression turning dark as he glared at the fire. The last of his smirk vanished, his eyes narrowing. “It gets messy.” Those last words were so quiet that he almost didn’t hear them. There was history attached to that statement, and if the tense, stiff posture Bakugou was holding was any indication, he shouldn’t pry further. 

Izuku hummed, leaning his head up against one of the limestone walls surrounding them. Maybe in time, the man would open up to him further, and his own lingering curiosity would be satisfied. But for now… He had to figure out a way to distract him. That or get his guard down. He only needed to slip away for a couple of minutes... 

He shut his eyes, as though to go asleep. If Bakugou believed he’d fallen asleep, he wouldn’t watch him quite as closely. Then, when it came time for Kirishima’s shift, he may actually be unwary enough to sleep a little himself. That would be his chance. Every second of waiting was agony. If the horsemen came before he had the chance to retrieve the book… There was no telling if he’d have a chance to grab it in the mayhem. 

A few hours passed, and just when he thought he couldn’t stand it a moment longer - he’d fight Bakugou if he had to - he heard the man stretch to his feet. A moment later, he heard a sharp groan of pain.

“You didn’t need to kick me.” Kirishima hissed, his voice just barely above a whisper.

A few shuffling noises, and a long measured sigh, followed by silence. They had probably switched watches, finally, thank the gods. Kirishima was far less likely to stop him if he left for just a few minutes, and far less likely to stay awake through his shift. 

Izuku stiffened as he heard footsteps coming towards him. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know that it was Bakugou. The man stopped just a meters distance from him, roughly positioning himself in the sand a very short distance away.

_Damn._ Izuku’s heart fell. From that close, the soldier would be able to hear every move he made. So maybe he hadn’t succeeded in making the man less suspicious of him wandering off.

Nothing but patience would help him now. Not daring to make a movement that would betray he wasn’t yet asleep, he kept his breathing slow and relaxed. He dozed for a while longer, waiting for the breathing next to him to even out, smooth and steady, before he dared to crack his eyes open. 

He had to fight to keep from laughing. Kirishima was single handedly the worst watchman ever. He was already fast asleep, just as he suspected. The whole Tuareg army could descend on them and his brother wouldn’t know it. 

Daring to turn his head, he saw Bakugou, indeed just an arms distance away. His head was rolled forward, eyes closed. His arms were crossed over his chest, a long rifle wedged between them. 

Izuku waited several seconds, watching the man for any signs of movement. Nothing. Just the slow, gentle motions of his chest. He was knocked out, by all signs, though Izuku would wager that he was a light sleeper. He’d have to be quiet, especially with him so close. 

This was his chance. Reeling, he leaned forward to stand.

Bakugou stirred.

Heart pounding, Izuku froze, not daring to make another move. After a few seconds of panicked silence, Bakugou exhaled, settling back down.

Gods, that was too close. Izuku internally screamed. This was absolutely ridiculous.

Waiting a couple seconds, and far slower than before, he tried again. He made it to his feet, bending into a low crouch. So far so good. He took a slow, measured step forward. From across the dwindling campfire, he heard Ochako stir from her sleeping position on the camel.

She tilted her head, blearily regarding him with confusion as she took in his unusual posture. 

She opened her mouth as though to meow. 

Realizing what she was about to do, Izuku panicked, heart thrumming as he desperately signaled for her to stay quiet. If she made a noise she might wake everyone up. Her confusion only seemed to increase as he made wild, random gestures.

Deciding it was now or never, Izuku abandoned the attempt to shush her, gritting his teeth as he tried to quickly and silently distance himself from their makeshift camp. It was better to just make a go for it.

In quick, smooth movements, Izuku stealthily sped across the spire bend, hastily obscuring himself into the thick of the other camp.

When he was out of hearing distance, he let out a shaky breath of relief. He couldn’t believe he had actually managed that. His heart was still thumping in his chest. 

Looking down, he saw that Ochako had followed him, skirting around his legs in question. “You nearly got me caught.” He whispered harshly, keeping his voice low. She simply waved her tail, rubbing against his legs. Exhaling, he examined the camp. There were a few men who were awake, acting as sentries, but the majority of them were sleeping, armed to the teeth.

He had to be quick.

The sentries paid him little mind as he quietly made his way to Iida’s tent, their eyes focused on the horizon. When he finally got there, he was relieved to see that none of the sentries were posted within direct eyesight of it. Cautiously, he pulled back the tarp covering the front entrance.

It was dark inside, save for a small oil lantern, still alight, but very dim. On a small cot in the corner was Iida. The man appeared to be out like a light, thankfully. Izuku crept inside, holding his breath. He immediately went for the spot the book had been placed, only…

It wasn’t there?

Izuku’s heart stopped. Where did it go? He checked the corners of the tent, even going so far as to gently move around some of the stacks of papers littering the tent interior. Ochako watched him desperately shuffle through the contents from the tent entrance.

Reality suddenly struck him, and Izuku hissed to himself, palming his forehead. He was a damn scholar, gods help him. Master librarian and aspiring archaeologist. And here he was, creeping around a fellow scholars makeshift bedchamber like a damned _bandit_. Objectively this was ridiculous. He had to be out of his _mind-_

There it was.

Gods help him, this couldn’t get any worse.

Iida had the book tucked under his arm, half covered by the blankets of his cot. He was _sleeping_ with it. Of all the things in the world - Of every other possibility, the one where Iida was sleeping with the damn book, that’s what the gods decided on.

_I’m going to cry_. Izuku inhaled sharply through his nose, spinning in a small circle. No. Ok, he could do this. His brother had told him many stories of his pickpocketing escapades. This was child’s play, literally. He just needed something to replace the book. 

Looking around wildly, he found the perfect substitute. A worn, clearly well loved textbook about the same size. He lifted it, testing the weight. It would be close enough.

Now came the hard part. Sidling up next to the cot, he studied Iida. The man was out like a light, his mouth hanging open as he lightly snored. Wagging his fingers in preparation, Izuku took in a deep breath. If he messed this up there was absolutely no talking his way out of this one. He gently moved part of the blanket, revealing the entirety of the Book of the Dead. The closeness of the tome made his blood sing again, and he fought to keep his hands steady.

He set the top of the texbook against the other books bottom, nudging it forward. Iida’s hand resisted the movement at first, and Izuku tried applying a bit more pressure. The book finally began to move, Iida still snoring away. 

He was almost done when Iida suddenly shifted, his eyebrows scrunching up in discomfort. Izuku’s heart started pounding, a low roar filling his ears. Panicking, he quickly shoved the textbook the rest of the way through. The instant the Book of the Dead was free, he pulled it towards him, clutching it to his chest. 

It was like an aphrodisiac. The tension immediately left his limbs, the shaking almost immediately subsiding. It was replaced with a warm, buzzing sensation. His skin tingled pleasantly wherever it made contact with the tome. It felt _right_.

Iida shifted again, grabbing the dummy textbook and yanking it towards him with a satisfied grunt, nearly rolling over it entirely. Izuku quickly backed up, making to the tent entrance with his stolen prize. He was intending to just borrow the book just briefly, but the thought of parting with it now that it was finally his made him sick to his stomach. That, he’d have to deal with later. For now… He needed to get the key from Kirishima’s bag to open it. 

He exited the tent, looking over his shoulders to ensure that no sentries were watching. When the coast was clear, he strode intently through the camp, making a point not to cross the eyesight of any of the sentry diggers. If Iida woke up, he didn’t want anybody recognizing him as having the book in hand. 

When he turned back around the spire to their campsite, being extra careful to soften his footsteps, he froze in his tracks.

Bakugou was missing.

He looked around wildly, but there was no trace of him. Kirishima was still sound asleep, completely undisturbed. The camels were still in place as well, everything in perfect order. His heart beat faster as his mind raced. How did he wake up? Had he noticed he was missing? Of course he had, there was no way he hadn’t, but what-

A strong, rough hand grabbed his arm from behind, yanking him backwards.

Izuku inhaled, preparing to shout in alarm, when another hand clamped over his mouth, silencing him. He struggled violently, but his captor’s grip was like steel. 

“You know…” A familiar voice lilted next to his ear, “That’s called _stealing._ ”

Izuku immediately placed it. The panic left his limbs, and he let out a shaky breath through his nose. He reached up to remove the hand covering his mouth with an air of indignance.

When his mouth was freed, Izuku whirled to face him. “According to my brother, it’s called _borrowing._ ” He paused, putting a hand on his chest. His heart was still going a mile a minute, and his anger dwindled for a second. “You scared me.” He accused, breathless. 

Bakugou didn’t look at all remorseful, his face fixed in a livid scowl. “I told you not to wander off.” His eyes zeroed in on the book clutched against his chest. “And for this? _Really?_ ” 

The man went to yank it from his grip, but Izuku wouldn’t let him, keeping the book pressed up against his chest, his arms folded over the front. For a few quiet, violent seconds, they struggled back and forth before Bakugou finally jerked it free, holding it above his head and out of Izuku’s reach. 

“Give it back-!” Izuku demanded, raising his voice as high as he dared. He didn’t want to alert the whole camp. He tried to jump up and seize it, but Bakugou was much taller, and clearly had the upper hand. He sneered as Izuku grabbed a fistful of his shirt, trying to tug him downwards.

Holding it above his head, Bakugou inspected the book, turning it over so he could see it better in the firelight. He recognized the sun insignia in its center. “I can’t help but think that your four eyed friend is going to miss this.” He leered, looking back down. Izuku was still trying to reach, an angry flush heating his face.

“I _had_ to get it.” Izuku explained, his temper rising. The longer the book was kept from him, the more desperate his body became. “It’s one of the books - the things we came here for in the first place.”

Bakugou’s brows furrowed. “I thought it was supposed to be pure gold.” The thing in his hands was black stone and silver. Not gold.

“The Book of the Living is pure gold.” Izuku corrected, his patience rapidly thinning. He made another grab for it. “This is the Book of the Dead. But it’s just as important, so _please-_ ”

Bakugou made him struggle to reach for a few moments longer before finally lowering his arm enough that Izuku was able to reclaim it. He clutched it against his chest with an indignant huff, sending Bakugou an angry glare before heading back to the firepit. 

Bakugou followed him closely, shadowing his every step. He had gotten quite the wake up call earlier, waking up to find Izuku gone without a trace. He’d thought with absolute certainty he’d been snatched - right from under his fucking nose.

Oblivious, Izuku was muttering excitedly, hauling Kirishima’s pack over as he sat cross legged next to the fire. Bakugou mirrored him, sitting just a few inches away even as determination lit a new fire in his chest. He would be more careful. He couldn’t lose him again.

Izuku fumbled through the bag for a few seconds before pulling out the octagonal key. After all these years of searching and studying, he finally had one of the books in hand. If only Professor Aizawa could see him now; casually sitting in the city he had said didn't exist, while holding an equally legendary and myth bound book in his lap. Ha!

Steady and sure, he pressed in the jutting hieroglyph, opening the key. With a palpable air of excitement, he pressed it into the book’s silver indent. A perfect fit.

“Are you sure it’s not trapped?” Bakugou asked warily, his eyes trailing over the exterior. His mind went to the diggers who were melted by the pressurized salt acid. There was no telling if this book would hold the same fate for them.

Izuku shook his head. “They wouldn’t have trapped the book itself, just the case it was resting in.” The diggers who had died earlier had probably been uncovering it, which explained why the trap was so effective. Things this precious were not protected carelessly. 

“Besides…” Izuku said, fingering the key, “What harm ever came from reading a book?” He flipped the key, and the silver hinges unlatched in a loud click.

A huge breeze gusted through the city as the book unlocked, and the campfire staggered, casting large, reaching shadows across the walls. 

A strong feeling of caution washed over him, the air thickening. It felt like he was back underground in the Anubis chamber, the air heavy and forbidding. Something inside of him was telling him not to open it, a gut feeling that begged him to pack it away. But he’d gone too far now to let the talk of curses dissuade him. 

Heart pounding, Izuku flipped back the cover, uncovering the first two tablet pages. It was beautiful. The interior was etched with incredible precision, the writing bordering on art.

But the writing - these weren’t plain hieroglyphics. The pictures curled and twisted on each other, spirals and circles depicting ancient spells. 

“That doesn’t look like the other glyphs.” Bakugou commented, looking over his shoulder.

“You’re right.” Izuku said quietly, his eyes glued on the page, “They’re different.” He ran his hands over the markings, tracing the whirling patterns with his fingers.

The patterns were nonsensical and heavily nuanced. It should have been gibberish, but for some reason, the words came together.

“...I can read it.” Izuku said softly, unable to tear his gaze away from the twisted labyrinth of incants.

The words came like a whisper, emanating from the deepest part of his core.

“ _Ahmun Ra, Ahumun Dai,_ ” He started, tracing the lines. The air became so thick it felt hardly breathable. His body started to tremble, his heart shuddering as though something was taking hold of it- “ _Psuuai ah harum acktoor, psim mais eebet haya-_ ” 

The ground beneath him began to quake, the sand shifting with every word. Something was wrong. From a world far away from him, he could hear Bakugou’s voice. A hand digging into his arm, shaking him. But it was far away, far away from where he was. The chant continued, unbidden, streaming past his lips as the air around him seemed to blur.

“ _Endeavor ees suhm paeckay sitsuae-_ ”

The shaking intensified, the sand spiraling around him. The voice rang louder in his ears, the pressure on his arms becoming painful. But still, the words continued. The book held him firmly in its invisible grip, his body no longer his own. The glyphs on the page started to glow, dancing before his eyes, the light becoming so intense he thought it might blind him-

“ _Yahtuae, yahtuae, yahtuae!_ ”

A deafening roar filled his ears, and something inside him _shattered_. 

The book finally released him, and Izuku fell forward, inhaling a deep, ragged breath as a wave of pure energy sliced through his insides. His head seemed to explode, and he clutched either side of it as he shouted in agony, falling forward. 

The only thing holding him up was Bakugou, but even that grip suddenly gave way and Izuku crashed to the sand, still holding his head as the pain rang through it. The voices around him became clearer, the once quiet camp now filled with screams and shouts of alarm. 

Through the loud haze he singled out Iida’s voice, calling out above the rest in a single, begging cry. “ _No! You mustn’t read from the book!_ ”

The very ground was moving underneath his fingertips, but Izuku fought to his knees, wrenching his eyes open to see the chaos surrounding them. Black swirled around his vision, his eyesight influenced with a sense of unreality. The entire camp was entrenched in a blood red hue. Everyone was awake, men tripping and howling over themselves. Some were mounting horses at random, running out of the city, while others were running towards them, making for the Hamunaptra tombs. Looking up, Izuku understood why.

The statue of Anubis; its eyes were glowing a demonic, fiery red. The light was so intense it had basked the entire city in its glow. From the creature’s snarling maw, black smoke drifted downwards, slowly obscuring the entire city in a thin, black smog. The eyes, though.

The eyes were _alive_.

“Izuku-” Kirishima had woken up with the others, his hair tossed from broken sleep, stumbling to his knees in front of him. His teeth were clenched as though he were in pain as well. “Izuku we have to move-” His voice was desperate, shaking.

No, this all couldn’t be real. This was just a dream. No, it was a _nightmare_. The moon itself looked to have been swallowed, the shadows long and deep wherever the creature’s eyes did not reach. Another deadened roar vibrated through the ground, the sand shaking beneath them.

Izuku shook his head, his brain still being split in half. He couldn’t move. He didn’t think he could even stand, let alone walk. Whatever had broken inside of him was searing through his veins, paralyzing him.

Iida came from seemingly nowhere, sliding to a stop in front of them. He slammed the book shut, his eyes wide and wild. “What have you done?! That book was the key to unleashing the ancient curse entombed here-”

“ _It’s not real_.” Izuku hissed as another wave of pain coarsed through him. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. 

“Look around you!” Iida cried, motioning to the city, still colored red. The ground continued to quiver, the aftershocks testing the dilapidated city’s foundation. Izuku closed his eyes, shaking his head. No. He didn’t believe in this anymore. It wasn’t true.

A loud, buzzing noise was coming from the distance, steadily growing louder. They all stopped, casting their frightened gazes to the horizon as it intensified. It came like a wall of black, blotting out the starry horizon. The buzzing turned to a low, deafening chatter.

“Are those...locusts?” Kirishima breathed.

“‘Should a victim of the Hom-Dai ever arise,” Iida recited, making a small sigil across his chest, “He will bring with him the ten plagues of Egypt.’”

The wall seemed to double in size, coming onto them with alarming speed, the chattering becoming louder and louder. It was like a black tidal wave, the city’s unearthly glow giving it a terrifying texture. It would descend upon them in a matter of seconds. All of the camels reared back in alarm, heading for the outskirts of the city. Ochako bounded off their backs, landing in front of him. She grabbed Izuku’s sleeve with her teeth, tugging him forward.

Kirishima blinked, grabbing his brother by the shoulders. “Ok, now we _really_ have to move, please.”

“I _can’t-_ ” His blood was burning, scorching his insides with its heat. Ochako continued pulling on his shirt, relentless.

Another voice cursed ferociously beside him. Izuku turned to see Bakugou gripping his arms. The skin on them was red and inflamed, his muscles tensed, the veins close to bursting. He looked to be in pain as well, his teeth clenched in a tight snarl. With another vicious swear, he lurched forward, seizing Izuku by the scruff of his shirt and hauling him to his feet.

Izuku wasn’t able to support himself, his legs giving way, buckling from the effort. Before he fell back down, Bakugou encircled a strong arm around his midriff, holding him upright, pressed against his side. 

Without further words, they sprinted to the spire entrance just as the encompassing wave of locusts crashed into the city, pouring into every nook and cranny. A few of the errant diggers who hadn’t managed to escape were caught up in the swarm. Izuku’s mouth hung open as he watched one of them become covered- for a few moments his thrashing figure was lost in the flurry, and when they finally retreated there was nothing left- the man had been sucked dry, picked to the bone. 

The instant they made it through the doorway, Izuku hissed as he was suddenly dropped to the ground, Bakugou yanking something from his belt.

Kirishima skidded to a stop. “We have to keep going-”

Bakugou cursed as he flung open a box of matches. “If we don’t close this entrance we’re fucked-” He yelled. He slammed something into the wall, then started flicking a match with incredible speed. Izuku’s eyes widened when he saw what he had place on the wall.

Dynamite.

“You’ll bring the whole ceiling down on us!” Izuku shrieked. 

The match burst to life, and he lit the dynamite string. “Not if we move fast enough.” He snapped. The string began to fizz. In one long swooping motion, he hauled Izuku to his feet, lifting him. He barely had his feet under him before they hurtled through the tunnel at a breakneck pace, the locust swarm sounding like it was right behind him. 

When the explosion went off the whole tunnel seemed to shake, dust falling from the ceiling in huge clouds. They all fell to the ground in a jumbled pile. Izuku started coughing, covering his mouth with his inner arm. He got to his knees, scooting to the closest hard surface. He leaned his back against the limestone wall, letting his mind and sapped strength catch up with him.

Breathing heavily, he turned his head and pressed his cheek against the chilled stone, willing it to cool him. The fire inside of him had lessened, but the scalding sensation had not left, his legs still weak and shaky. He didn’t feel right. Wherever the heat had touched him felt fresh, new. His body felt like an entirely different being.

The three of them were all panting, waiting, listening. Iida had already gone, vanished with the book still in hand. Disappeared somewhere into the depths of the winding passageways. The tunnels echoed with the low shouts of the few that had escaped the swarm, the frightened voices reverberating, untraceable in the winding stone. After a minute, the tension lessened. The locusts hadn’t followed. The buzzing lowered to a dull roar.

Izuku closed his eyes, his breath ragged. Ochako nosed into his lap, and he buried his fingers in her fur, holding her close. He didn’t know what to think anymore.

Bakugou threw himself down next to him, still panting, and ran a hand through his hair. “I hate that fucking statue.” He snarled, pinching the bridge of his nose. After a moment he let out a pained hiss, grabbing at his upper arms. They still felt like they were on fire, his hands screaming like he’d just dipped them in hot oil. 

“Does anyone want to talk about what’s happening?” Kirishima pleaded, breaking the looming silence.

Izuku shook his head, his eyes still closed. “It’s not a plague. It’s generational. Every so many years the locusts have a population explosion and they all take flight at once-”

“And when that happens, how many people do they eat alive, on average?” Bakugou broke in, throwing his head back in frustration. 

He didn’t have a good answer. “There’s an explanation to everything. We can’t just call coincidence and things we don’t yet understand as curses or magic.” Izuku argued, his voice weak. He combed through Ochako’s hair, running the knots in her fur through his fingers with unnecessary vigor. After a few seconds, he paused. 

His injured hand was still burning, but the cut wasn’t hurting anymore. A little thrown, he turned the palm over.

The skin was flawless.

No, that wasn’t possible. He’d gotten the cut just _yesterday_. He blinked, processing for a few seconds. The stitches were still in place, but the skin was completely healed. No marks, not even a scar to betray the wound had ever existed in the first place. Bakugou leaned over, taking his wrist. He inspected the stitches for a few moments before exhaling heavily.

“I don’t believe in that shit either.” Bakugou said lowly, meeting his gaze. “But what the hell would you call this?”

“Something we don’t yet understand.” Izuku whispered. He’d nearly lost his father to this magic nonsense. He wouldn’t lose anyone else, including himself.

Bakugou opened his mouth as though to reply, but abruptly stopped, craning his neck towards something. Izuku stilled. He heard it too. In the distance, a sudden increase of the locust’s buzzing in both pitch and tempo, the volume suddenly rising. As though it was dawning on him as well, Kirishima slowly pitched to his feet.

“I’m just thinking…” Kirishima breathed, his voice still breathy, “Wasn’t there another opening in the preparation room?”

Bakugou shot to his feet, seizing Izuku by the arm and pulling him up with him. The sudden movement left Izuku dizzy, but his legs held steady. He couldn’t let Bakugou keep carrying him. He’d just slow him down. He shook his arm free, meeting Bakugou’s gaze.

“I can follow.” He promised, motioning towards the tunnels. The buzzing grew even louder, and his heart began to race again. “Let’s move.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made the questionable decision to put a bnha power twist on this story.


	13. Impending Doom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hate bugs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good lord, where the hell have I been? 
> 
> College full on slapped me in the face. I've got two huge essays due on Tuesday. But listen here: I'll keep writing this fic if it damn well kills me. 
> 
> -

Walter ran, hastily brushing locusts off of him as he struggled to keep pace with his group, his chest heaving with effort. Neito led, with Antonin and Mineta following close behind. Only one person had a torch in hand, the light just barely touching the narrow walls of the tomb, dipping wildly with each step. They had no idea where they were going, and several of their hired men lost track of them in their sprint, twisting into several different passageways, their yelling growing faint as they fled deeper into the underground.

A few more panicked cuffs and the last of the bugs were off of him. But he could still feel the sensation of them crawling, his skin still tingling. Walter hated insects; couldn’t stand the sight, let alone the sensation, of their long, grasping legs that spindled out of their bodies. Their teeth had pierced his skin in several places, the bites stinging with surprising force. 

He was so caught up in frantically brushing off his clothes, Walter didn’t see the fallen rubble in front of him until he was facedown on the stone, his palms scraping roughly against the ground. His eyes went up and he found himself face to face with the hallway’s lower crown molding.

“Dammit!” He cursed richly. His hands burned.. Footsteps continued to race around him, nobody pausing to help or even register he had fallen. A few seconds passed as he tried to reorient himself, wiping the sand from his arms, hissing in pain. It started getting harder and harder to see. His eyes flicked up to see Neito hadn’t even stopped, the sole bearer of the torch. The whole group faded off into the distance as they continued to hurtle through the winding, painted passages.

The light was rapidly extinguished as the single flame vanished into the encroaching darkness. An understanding shot through him, and his eyes widened dramatically. They were actually leaving him. 

He scrambled back to his feet, nearly running headfirst into a side wall. He couldn’t see anything, the world around him almost immediately dipping into an inky black. Panic started to twist in his stomach. “Wait!” He called out angrily, slapping the rock beside him. He could hear his voice echo, but there was no answer, the cry met with a despairing silence.

Walter felt his breathing shallow. Gone. Alone. “Dammit.” He swore again, weakly. For all his bravado, his pulse quickened as fear began to seep into his chest. He had no idea how to navigate these endless tunnels; the four eyed freak was the only one who could, and he was either dead or lost like the others. 

Optionless, he placed both hands on the wall, the fresh scrapes stinging as the gravel pressed deeper into the cuts. He began to slowly make his way forward. If he followed it straight through, in their general direction, he might be able catch up with them. He stumbled dumbly through the quiet dark, his arms shaking. 

Time passed slowly, painfully. He wanted out. Anywhere but here. This deep down there was no way for natural light to enter from outside, and the lack of vision was slowly driving him insane. Everything around him was a series of dark, looming shapes. Assumed statues and carvings towered over him, their threatening shadows almost indistinguishable in the deeply shaded corridors, further adding to his unease. Every now and again he would hear the faint sound of a voice in the far distance, but they were all untraceable. Damn, how he wished he had his lighter right about now. Antonin had filched it off of him earlier for a late cigar. He’d never wanted it more badly in his life. 

His hands met another wall. What? His feet scraped against the tile as he reached out into the darkness, trying to feel for the other side of the hallway. It wasn’t there. Had he wandered into a room? The panic began to renew as the thought of dying alone, lost in these endless caverns became more real. 

A whisper sounded across his ears.

Walter stopped dead. A blast of hot warning went through his spine, and his whole body started to tremble. His instincts began to kick in. There was something wrong, and his muscles tensed on impulse. Inexplicable, unfathomable. There was a presence close to him. He whipped his head around, straining to see in the endless dark.

“Neito?” Walter tried, his voice wavering ever so slightly. His pride flared; he couldn’t let anyone know he was frightened. Deepening his tone, he let a cut of anger slice through it. “Who the hell is there?” He demanded.

No answer.

The feeling of dread only seemed to intensify, his heart pounding faster. Something was deeply wrong. The air in the room suddenly spiked in temperature, a surge of heat that weakened his breath and had him reaching for his revolver. “I’m armed!” He warned, curling up his mouth in a snarl. Despite the strong statement, his hand shook as he held the revolver out in front of him, waving the barrel aimlessly into the ocean of black.

Through the smothering silence, he heard a harsh whisper of breath; a mere remnant of sound that brushed past his ears, seemingly without owner. 

Walter inhaled sharply. He hadn’t imagined that. The grip around his gun tightened, his arm straightening until it was as stiff as a board. He took a desperate step backwards. “I’ll shoot you! By gods I will!” He screeched. He lifted a trembling arm to his forehead, wiping off the beads of sweat that were rapidly coating his skin as the heat in the room only seemed to increase.

The whisper came again, louder this time. A faint shuffle that ghosted through the room. He strained his ears, struggling to hear more above his ragged breathing. For a few terrible seconds, he couldn’t make out anything else, until two red dots emerged from the wall of black in front of him. 

At first they were just pinpoints, so small that he would have sworn they were imagined. But as the seconds passed, they slowly increased in size, the terrifying whispers intensifying as the glowing, fiery orbs drew closer. A few moments more and Walter came to the horrifying conclusion:

They were eyes.

Walter took several wild steps backwards, nearly tripping over himself in panic. With a shriek, he squeezed the trigger, firing a single shot randomly towards the approaching creature. He couldn’t tell if he had missed or not, but he wasn’t given a chance to fire again. The gun became searing hot in his grip, the metal glowing red with the heat in a mere second. His skin began to sizzle. With a cry of pain he dropped it, clattering to the stone floor. He grabbed his wrist, holding his scalded palm to his chest. 

When he looked up again, the two smoldering red eyes were suddenly towering above him, the burning crimson glow lighting the monster’s face, shadowing its large and incredibly broad figure. For a moment he thought it was human, but his eyes suddenly adjusted, and he inhaled a deep cry. His heart stopped, a lance of pure, unfiltered fear piercing it. No. It wasn’t human, it wasn’t even a _face_ at all - the flesh rotted through, the skin wet and slimy, falling off of its sunken face in clumps, and gods the _smell-_

The looming figure moved, and Walter screeched as it curled a putrid claw around his neck, his skin melting underneath the creature’s blistering touch.

Everything went black.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------- _Elsewhere..._

Izuku felt his legs suddenly go weak as a vice clamped around his heart. His knees nearly buckled as the clench sent him tipping off balance, nearly sending him into a senseless sprawl on the floor.

A pulse, a wave of something was shooting through his body, his senses picking up a kind of vibration within the very walls. As wild as the notion seemed, it felt like it was being caused by some other unseen force. Something wrong, _evil._

The air became weighted, and he placed a steadying, unsure hand over his chest, like he could will the sensation away. 

A single, desperate thought occurred to him, and he quickly obsessed over it. He was having a panic attack. There wasn’t anything that was actually wrong, he was just panicking. His heart beat heavily in response as he repeated it like a mantra. It wasn’t real, it was just panic. Not real, not real. 

Ahead of him, both Bakugou and Kirishima had nearly disappeared altogether, slowing down only when they turned to see him at a standstill. They had gone incredibly deep now, but where exactly was a complete mystery. Navigation had taken a backseat in lieu of escaping.

The walls around them held new mysteries. The murals were carefully drawn and painted, the skill in the stone moldings bordering each twist and turn enough to make modern architects cry. Normally a source of intrigue, Izuku wasn’t able to focus on any of it, his breathing shortening as he became dizzy. 

Not wanting to instill any kind of worry, he weakly waved his hand at his brother, indicating he just needed a second. A few insecurities bubbled to the surface of his mind, though Izuku adamantly fought the idea that this was connected to the curse. No, he was just having a small panic attack, that’s all. He clung to that idea, willing it into reality. 

Another traitorous voice deep inside of him told him he was fooling himself, but he pushed it down.

The single torch they had between them found its way into a hanging grate. The flickering flame faintly lit the artistic depictions covering every inch of stone. They were no longer grand images of kings and monarchs, but chilling scenes of death and torment. The vision was no less grand, the golds no less bright, but it was chilling all the same. 

Though he cast him a concerned look, Kirishima seemed relieved to stop, if only for a moment. After hanging their lone torch, he rested his hands on his knees, wiping his brow with his sleeve. He didn’t regret running as fast as he did. The deeper they went, the quieter the locusts became, before the sound faded off altogether. The only thing they heard now was their heavy and broken breathing, amplified across the stone chambers.

Bakugou wasn’t incredibly winded, but every inhale was deep and measured. His eyes narrowed when he saw the startled, shaken expression on Izuku’s face, and he took several steps toward him. “What?” He clipped. Not waiting for an answer, he eyes ran over the walls of the tunnel, as though he was scoping it for potential traps. Not seeing anything unusual, he turned his attention back on the shaking scholar in front of him. This wasn’t the time to freak out. They couldn’t stop moving yet. They may have gotten a lead on the locusts for now, but there was no telling how deep the insects would be willing to go. They didn’t have time to waste just standing around.

Izuku shook his head, slowly counting each breath he took, calming his heart. Ochako rubbed up against his calves in worry, her tail flicking in agitation. Normally he’d be grateful for her presence, as she was almost always able to balm over even the most potent of attacks, but this time the feeling didn’t even stir. 

He felt faint, the dizziness reaching a peak. There was a pit forming in his stomach, and his hands started to tingle. He wavered to the side, nearly falling over.

A strong grip quickly closed around his forearm, holding him steady. A demure glance up confirmed that Bakugou was now hovering over him, his furious expression twitching to show a slight twinge of worry. A familiar scent of gunpowder and musk hit him, and Izuku felt his chest lax. The sense of security the soldier was starting to bring him was both assuring and confusing. But his hands... Izuku trailed his gaze down to where Bakugou was holding him. His hands felt hot to the touch, like a kettle about to ring. The skin still looked slightly red, though not as bad as before. 

A slight sense of guilt wiggled through him. Bakugou had to be in pain himself, and yet here he was, helping him again. Internally Izuku berated himself. He was becoming a much larger burden than he’d care to admit. A literal deadweight. Nevertheless, he leaned into the support gratefully, murmuring a soft word of thanks. He’d do better in the future. Instead of relying on others, he wanted people to rely on _him_.

The instinct reared up again. It kept insisting that something had just happened. His eyes danced over the shadowed images on the walls. “Something’s wrong.” He said quietly, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop them. 

“I would certainly say so.” Kirishima laughed. “You don’t come across man eating locusts everyday, that’s for sure.” When he looked up and saw the haunted expression on his brother’s face, his laughter quickly faded off, and was replaced with pointed worry. “You alright?”

Izuku shook his head again, and his brow furrowed. He inhaled deeply, his eyes still chasing hidden figures in the dark. “I don’t know what it is. It feels off.” He said, his voice still barely above a whisper. The words sounded ridiculously paranoid, even to him. All of those hits to his head... Maybe he was just starting to feel the effects now. There was no other explanation as to why he was suddenly so aware of a distant thrumming in the walls, his body trembling with some kind of pent up energy. Wouldn't that be ironic, the son of Toshinori going mad on his first expedition. 

Bakugou kept his grip on his arm, holding him upright. He looked ready to say something, but Izuku quickly cut him off. “It’s _not_ the dark.” He said firmly, his voice lowering. If he was accused of being afraid of the dark one more time, he’d have a fit.

“If we scared you earlier, Izuku, we’re sorry.” Kirishima broke in, casting a quick glance to Bakugou. “You’re probably right, this has a scientific explanation, we just don’t know what it is yet-”

“I’m fine.” Izuku said quickly, waving him off. “Something just feels off, that's all. It's probably nothing.”

Kirishima seemed to chew on that, going quiet for a few seconds. Their father’s voice echoed in his head. _In these hallowed grounds, that which was set forth in ancient times, is as strong today as it was then._ Izuku had given up on the idea of magic long ago, but just because his brother had stopped believing, it didn’t mean he had too. “If ever there was a time to listen to your gut,” Kirishima said softly, his tone growing sincere, “This might be it.”

Izuku shook his head, gently pushing Bakugou away. The sudden loss of contact made his muscles inexplicably ache. “No, none of that magic nonsense, please. I just need to catch my breath.” His voice sounded a little weak. He palmed his forehead, the skin a little warm to the touch. The scalding sensation inside of him had left his whole body in a flush. Another wave of dizziness spun through his head, and he lilted to the side.

“Listen, brat-” Bakugou growled, quickly reaching out to stop him from tipping over again, “If you still can’t walk-”

“I can walk.”

“You don’t fucking look like it-”

Izuku sighed loudly, visibly frustrated. “Mr. Bakugou-”

“ _-Katsuki._ ” Bakugou snapped without thinking.

At that, Izuku’s head perked up. A little stunned, his mouth opened questioningly but Bakugou cut him off, running a rough hand through his hair. His mouth pinched in irritation as he looked pointedly to the side, avoiding Izuku’s gaze. “We’ve nearly died enough times that you may as well call me by my first fucking name.”

Progress. A warm feeling filtered through Izuku’s chest, loosening the vice around his heart. A bit of the pressure dissipated, and a small smile managed to touch his face. 

“Katsuki, then.” Izuku corrected, his voice softening. Bakugou's eyes flicked down to meet his, the look holding a surprising bit of heat. Izuku felt his stomach flutter. From this close, his eyes were a deep wine red. The moment he felt his body start to drift closer, he quickly turned his head, praying that the flush on his cheeks was unnoticable. Izuku cleared his throat, studying the ground. “I’m alright to keep going, I just needed a moment.” Another few moments of silence passed before he added, “A lot just happened.” 

The tight hand on his arm didn’t lessen.

“Humor me, Izuku.” Kirishima joined, resting his elbow against the torch grate. “What exactly doesn’t feel right to you?”

Feeling silly, Izuku was reluctant to answer, trying to ignore the pointed glare Bakugou was boring into him. “Well,” He tried, scratching his cheek in mild embarrassment. His face warmed again. “I don’t think we should go any deeper.”

“Why?” Bakugou demanded. 

“Because-” The words got jumbled in his head as he tried to pinpoint the feelings of paranoia. The more he dwelled on the emotion, the shorter his breath became, his heart starting to beat rapidly in response. His fingers started to tingle again. “It feels like there’s something else here. Something…” He quieted off, not finishing the sentence. _Evil_ , his mind supplied. 

“I mean, we don’t really have anyplace else to go.” Kirishima said thoughtfully. “Though I guess maybe we could- _SHIT!_ ”

Ochako shot up in the air at the outburst as Izuku and Bakugou both quickly looked up to see Kirishima in a tangled heap on the ground. The light flickered drastically, and they were nearly enveloped in sudden darkness. The torch grate had given way underneath Kirishima’s weight, and it clattered to the stone floor, the torch rolling on the ground a short distance from it. A few pieces of the painted mural surrounding the grate fell as well, the scene chipping and scattering across the floor.

Izuku’s expression turned furious as the delicately hand painted shards broke into several pieces against the limestone.

“I’m sorry,” Kirishima said quickly, holding up his hands in sign of peace, his face slightly paling, “Maybe we can fix it?”

A lecture of ungodly proportions started to swell in Izuku’s mouth. They’d be as old as the city itself by the time he was done with him; but before he could even open his mouth the ground beneath them began to tremble. Dust started to fall from the ceiling, small bits of rocks pattering to the ground as the very earth quivered.

Bakugou cursed richly as he pulled Izuku to the floor, kneeling with his legs braced apart. Without thinking, Izuku grabbed a handful of his shirt, his eyes scanning the ceiling. The cave in from when they found the sarcophagus came to mind, and he watched it for any signs of cracking. Ochako scurried underneath them, taking cover below their ankles. 

Kirishima wasn’t as prepared, doing his best to stand upright and promptly failing, skidding to his knees as he lost balance. “I hate these things!” He shouted above the noise.

After a few seconds it finally calmed down, and they hesitantly lifted to their feet. Izuku took care to cover his head with his one hand, blocking any stray pieces of grit that were still detaching from the ceiling. He waved a hand in front of him to help clear the dust.

“I don’t remember there being that many fucking earthquakes in Egypt.” Bakugou spat. His muscles were still tense, his body still on high alert. 

“The last one was in 1847.” Izuku confirmed absently. This shaking had to be confined to the city of Hamunaptra itself. But the cause…. The reason was still a mystery. He paused, his head pivoting to scan the area around them. With a startled note, he realized that he was still holding on to Bakugou, and he quickly let go. 

The thrumming in the walls started getting louder.

Izuku flexed his hands. The tingling sensation in his fingers was spreading through his arms, his chest, before finally reaching his head. The dizziness was gone, but the feeling of pent up energy returned. 

“The hell are you doing now?” Bakugou demanded, brushing dust off of him. He watched as Izuku walked off, tracing the wall with his finger, his face thoughtful. Bakugou looked up at the ceiling warily. If this kept up the whole damn city was going to fall on them.

Instead of answering, Izuku leaned even closer to the wall, tapping it slightly with his nail. The rock underneath seemed to be vibrating, and there was a faint hum accompanied with it. Intrigued, Izuku moved forward and pressed his ear against it, listening.

“The hell are you-”

Izuku motioned for Bakugou to keep quiet. 

A few curses clipped past Bakugou’s lips, and he strode over to where Izuku was still standing with his ear against the vivid illustrations, moving so that he towered over him. “ _Don’t wave me off._ ” He snarled.

Izuku ignored him, concentrating. “Do you hear that?” He asked, keeping his voice down. The humming was growing louder, accompanied by the faint sound of scratching and even... tapping?

For a moment Bakugou didn’t move, but then he grudgingly mimicked him, pressing his own ear against the wall. For a few seconds they were both quiet, before they turned their heads and exchanged glances. The tapping was definitely getting louder. 

“What? What is it? What are we doing?” Kirishima chimed from a few yards away. He was trying to hopelessly reassemble the shattered mural pieces on the floor like a kind of jigsaw puzzle.

“ _SHHH._ ” They both hissed. 

Kirishima threw up his hands in defeat, and continued assorting the pieces. He muttered distantly under his breath.

Izuku chewed his lip thoughtfully as they kept listening. It could be a variety of things. Maybe the walls were starting to crumble after the small quakes, and it was a having a domino effect on the other structures. He had first hand experience of just how quickly that could go south. That or there may be diggers on the other side of the wall who were trapped, or simply making their way through the tunnels, but then again they would have heard them yelling, wouldn’t they? Although if it were some of the superstitious diggers they wouldn’t want to draw attention to themselves-

A hand clamped over his mouth. 

“Quit mumbling.” Bakugou said lowly, his eyes narrowing. 

Blushing, Izuku drew back, removing his hand. “Sorry. I tend to do that when I’m thinking.”

“Think with your head, not your mouth.”

Izuku felt his cheeks flush even brighter even as a touch of indignance filtered through him.

Before he could formulate something to say back, Kirishima’s voice broke over them. The shards fell from his hands, crumbling even further as they again smacked against the ground. He pointed past them, indicating to a spot in the center of the hall. “Uh…. Are you both seeing what I’m seeing?”

When they looked up, Bakugou immediately threw a restraining arm across Izuku, tugging him backwards. Ochako scurried over to Kirishima, hissing angrily behind the safety of his legs. 

The floor was moving.

They were no longer listening through the wall, but the scratching sound was now audible from where they stood, morphing into a loud chatter. The rock started to crumble and chip, centering out until it morphed into a single rising column. The tent of sand continued to rise from the ground until it stood nearly three feet tall and two feet thick.

Izuku almost stumbled as Bakugou pushed him even further back, towards Kirishima and the continuing hallway. Grabbing wildly, Kirishima lifted the torch high above their heads, pointing it towards the quickly amassing mountain of sand, the light just barely reaching it.

Just when Izuku thought the mound couldn’t get any bigger, it _popped_.

Hundreds of black wriggling beetles exploded from the pile, engulfing half the hallway in a matter of seconds. The chatter became deafening as crawled over every inch of free space, the flood making its way towards them.

Izuku could feel his body stiffen as adrenaline blasted through him, the nightmarish realization not even fully hitting his brain before his mouth worked for him. “ _Scarabs!_ ” He shrieked, wrenching Bakugou backwards.

Further explanation was not needed. Pivoting powerfully, the four of them turned and hurtled down the hallway, moving so incredibly fast they barely had time to watch their footing and direction, nearly slamming into walls that would suddenly emerge out of the blinding darkness. 

Izuku barely turned his head to see Bakugou throw his rifle out from over his shoulder, twisting his torso and firing into the mass of scarabs as they swamped the corridors behind them. The shots were ear-splitting, the beetles flying into the air in a small circle of effect wherever Bakugou hit.

Eyes widening, Izuku watched him fall farther behind them as he continued shooting. They had gained several yards in trade, but at this rate, the swarm would likely overtake Bakugou if he continued.

A fresh surge of heat ignited in Izuku’s chest, spreading all the way down to his fingers. The tingling, buzzing sensation returned with full force, a wave of energy flowing through him. His hand reached out of its own volition, grabbing the barrel of Bakugou’s gun, yanking it free from the unsuspecting man’s grip. Were it not for the shoulder strap it would have been thrown to the ground.

The expression of pure, unfiltered rage had just barely dawned on Bakugou’s face before Izuku seized a handful of his shirt, wrenching him forward with a ferocity that forced the man to move. He was going to be chewed out later for this, but for right now all that mattered was for them to all keep running. 

Despite the blistering fury that was undoubtedly pumping through Bakugou at his blatant interference, he followed. Relief filtered through Izuku’s torso, despite the sound of the scarabs regaining the lost ground. They needed to think of something else, and fast.

Whirling around a corner, they reached an immensely long room. The walkway narrowed, the room shouldered on either side by large, incredibly deep pits. The walls had slight ledges, unreachable unless you jumped. 

Izuku’s mind raced. If they were able to reach those ledges, the scarabs likely wouldn’t be able to reach because they wouldn’t be able to jump across-

Whether Bakugou had come to the same conclusion, or he had mumbled that realization aloud, Izuku would never know. A millisecond later he felt two strong hands grab the back of his shirt, and the next second he was flying through the air. 

He landed powerfully on his side, rolling once before he hit the side wall. His head spun as he scrambled to his knees, just barely processing that he was now on the ledge. The flood of scarabs swarmed the walkway a mere second later, and Izuku’s heart nearly stopped before he saw both Bakugou and Kirishima safely on the ledge on the either side of the room, having also cleared the pit.

Kirishima had Ochako clutched in his arms.

A small breath of gratitude worked its way past the tension, even as Izuku scrambled backwards until his back met the wall. For a few terrifying seconds, they waited as the flurry of scarabs neatly thundered across the walkway, the sheer number of them shocking. Kirishima had the only torch, and the light just barely lit the beetles as they scurried past, but it was just enough that Izuku could see the long, sharp pincers mounted on their heads.

‘ _Scarabs. The flesh eating variety; they’ve been extinct for so long they’ve devolved into legend.’_

Izuku’s breath shortened, and he pressed his back even harder against the wall behind him. If they had caught up to them… The image of the mummy, rotting in its coffin, torn to pieces lifted to the forefront of his mind, his feet scraping against the sandy ledge as he pushed himself even closer to the wall-

Before it suddenly gave way behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have this issue where I want more to happen in a chapter, but then I get to like, 9-10 pages in word doc (which is my usual length cutoff) and I find myself unable to part with a lot of it. 
> 
> I didn't expect this chapter to take so long - I expect the next chapter to be out on the usual time. Virtual beers for everyone - to commemorate your patience


	14. Endeavor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We fucked up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no internet
> 
> There's still a lot of changes I want to make with this chapter, will probably edit again at some point.
> 
>  
> 
> -

Bakugou rolled when he hit the edge of the wall’s ledge, his hand automatically drawing his revolver and aiming it at the center walkway. He glanced up to see Izuku up against the other side, ruffled but unharmed. Good. For a moment he had wondered if he’d thrown him too hard. 

The mass of beetles, or _scarabs_ , Izuku had called them, continued to flood past, the chattering dulling to a distant roar as they continued through the hallway. They eventually metered out. A couple seconds of silence passed before he pulled up his gun back up, tucking it back into its holster. Considering how small they were, they moved alarmingly fast. If he hadn’t slowed them down earlier...

Bakugou’s lip curled as he reached over his shoulder and pulled his rifle out in front of him, inspecting it. That damn brat… yanking it out of his hands… His pride stung. He wasn’t expecting him to do it this first time, but there sure as hell wouldn’t be a second. His anger faltered as he inspected the barrel, the part where Izuku grabbed. Eyes widening, a low curse drifted to the tip of his tongue.

It was completely crushed.

The barrel had been _smushed_ , like it was made out of fucking soft clay and not metal. The bent portion was in the shape of a hand; fisted to the point where the barrel was almost unrecognizable. Impossible. Nobody had that kind of strength, let alone a paper pushing bookworm.

“How the hell did that happen?” Kirishima said, his voice shocked.

Scowling, Bakugou turned to look back over at Izuku. “Let’s ask your fucking brother.” He fumed, his tone clippy. He had a thing or two to say to that damn brat about it anyhow-

Except he wasn’t there.

Bakugou froze for a moment. The ledge was empty. His head swiveled, his eyes scrutinizing every bare inch of the room. Nothing. Not a single sound from the brat either. No yells, no words exchanged, he had up and fucking vanished. “Izuku?” Bakugou called out, his back straightening. His hand reached back for his holster. He craned his neck, scouring the visible areas of the hallway from where he stood. Still no sign. 

Kirishima seemed to realize his absence as well, and he quickly made it to his feet. “Izuku?” He tried himself, his tone noticeably more panicked. He’d gone this far without losing his brother, it couldn’t happen now.

Still no answer. Bakugou cursed under his breath and leapt over to the middle walkway, bending over the side of the pit. His breath caught as he lit a match, dropping it down the abyss. The light was faint, but he watched it drop a good thirty feet to the bottom. It was empty.

Relief flickered through his chest. So the brat hadn’t fallen, at least. He heard Kirishima jump over to join him, saw the look of fear in his eyes as he peered over the edge of the pit as well.

“He didn’t fall.” Bakugou said, his frustration growing. A unusual heat twisted in his gut.

A bit of the panic left Kirishima as he let out a nervous breath. “Then where…?” He ran his free hand through his hair, bits of dust falling from it. “We would have seen if he had gone elsewhere, wouldn’t we?” People didn’t just disappear out of nowhere. But… If anyone was capable of it, it would be Izuku. The instant they got back to Cairo, he wasn’t letting his brother go out on any other kind of outing. He couldn’t handle the stress.

Ochako began to squirm in his arms, and he dropped her to the ground. Without hesitation she vaulted herself over the pit, just barely reaching the edge of the ledge where Izuku had vanished. Mewling loudly, she scratched at the wall, looking at them both pointedly.

Bakugou rose to his feet, watching as the cat pawed at the rock, throwing a loud fit. For a moment he was about to snap at it for the irritating noise, but then his eyes caught on a small indent in the stone lining. 

No fucking way.

He cleared over, landing next to the cat. She turned in a small circle, her mewling turning more insistent. Placing a hand over the wall, he followed the indent, which formed a perfect square from the floor. He let out a harsh curse.

“What?” Kirishima prompted. He kept on the middle walkway to allow for more room, but he leaned over as close as the drop would allow him, his eyes straining to see what Bakugou had discovered.

“It just fucking figures, that your brother would fall through a trapdoor.” Bakugou fumed. He turned sideways, bracing his shoulder, and slammed it in to the stone. A brief flare of pain lanced up his arm. It didn’t budge. He tried again, grating his feet into the sand. Still no movement. He rubbed his shoulder, rolling it backwards.

“It might lead to the room next door.” Kirishima offered, hope lighting his face. “We could go around and see if he ended up there.”

“Or it might not.” Bakugou grunted, trying again. The stone didn’t falter, no matter how much strength he put behind each shove. How the hell at Izuku triggered it? Losing his patience, he reached for the dynamite on his belt. To hell with what the brat wanted, he’d blow up every single obstacle if he had to. When he went to grab it though, his hands came up empty. “Fuck.”

“What?”

Bakugou exhaled sharply, hitting his forehead against the stone. “I used my last stick of dynamite to cave in the front entrance.” He should’ve grabbed more from his canvas weapon bag before this whole mess started, but he clearly didn’t have the fucking sense to do so. 

Worry started to beat in his chest, mixing with the heat. He’d left him alone for ten goddamn seconds. A snarl broke through him, and he slammed his fist against the wall, breaking skin.

“Whoah - easy, easy.” Kirishima said, holding up a hand. “We might be able to go around to wherever the door leads. Izuku is a sensible man. He probably knows to stay put until we find him.” He seemed to ponder that thought, a wry smile creeping on his face. “That or find the exit. In fact, I’d be a little more worried about us at the moment.”

Bakugou didn’t respond for several seconds, his back turned. The muscles clenched, then unclenched, until he finally turned his head to look back at Kirishima. The look in his eyes was terrifying.

“What?” Bakugou clipped, his voice rough, “Your father never taught you how to read Egyptian?”

“Not fluently.” Kirishima admitted. “I never had any interest. Besides,” He worked up a small smile, “Weren’t you raised in Egypt? What, never picked up any Ancient Egyptian in the streets of Alexandria?” He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth.

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed, his mouth pinching up in a growl. “Fucking eavesdropper.” He hissed, turning to face him. 

Kirishima faltered. The last thing he wanted to do was provide a target for Bakugou’s misdirected frustration. “Not on purpose, I hadn’t completely dozed off yet.” He watched as Bakugou leapt back over, landing a short distance from him. The memory of being slugged less than a week ago came to mind, and he instinctively covered his nose. “That’s all I remember, promise.”

Bakugou jerked his chin up, his scowl still firmly in place. He took a step forward, looking thoroughly ready to pummel him, and Kirishima flinched. To his surprise, Bakugou merely clipped his shoulder as he stormed by him, moving to inspect the areas beyond the corridor’s archway. Kirishima let out a tepid breath, gratefully rubbing his still intact nose. He felt Ochako nose between his legs before trotting over to follow Bakugou, her tail flicking as she wandered out into the hallway.

“There might be a way around through this direction.” Bakugou said, his voice still harsh. 

Bringing the torch over, Kirishima nodded, eager to move the conversation back in the right direction. He wasn’t kidding when he said they should be more concerned about themselves than Izuku. These tunnels were deep and confusing, and without a guide they could easily get lost… If they weren’t already. 

“Let’s try it out.” Kirishima encouraged, peering over himself. “Though…” He checked his pockets. “Maybe we should mark the walls, that way if we need to find our way back here we’ll just have to follow the lines-” If only he’d thought to do it before, they wouldn’t be in this predicament. 

Voicing a small sound of triumph, he pulled a small sliver of charcoal from his back pant pocket. He’d pulled it from the remains of their hillside campfire when the flames had died down, and was glad that he had thought to do so. Before he could mark the doorway, however, a stream of shouting behind them had them both twisting in the other direction.

Another source of light suddenly appeared in the opposing doorway, Neito appearing with it. A small group of people followed behind him. His blonde hair was askew, face dirty and smeared. He didn’t offer a single word as he shoved past them both, nearly knocking Kirishima over in his rush. Ochako hissed, swatting at his ankles as he sped past. Bakugou moved cleanly to the side, a low curse clipping past his lips. 

“ _Run, dammit, run!_ ” Another voice shouted. Looking up, they saw Antonin and Mineta running as well, hurtling past them to follow Neito into the hallway. 

Bakugou watched them go by, his hand going to his revolver grip in alarm. Mineta was once again running from something, that wasn’t new. But the Americans were slightly more thick skulled, and they wouldn’t be this panicked unless something was actually wrong.

Him and Kirishima exchanged a glance as they looked to the other end of the room. The sound of chattering filled their ears.

The scarabs were back.

“Move!” Bakugou shouted, drawing his revolver. It just fucking figured that those fucking things would do a U turn. The flood of beetles poured into the room, immediately obscuring the walkway.

They both turned and ran after the Americans, doubling their speed as the wriggling sound behind them got louder. Before they had gone far, though, Bakugou seized the arm of Kirishima’s shirt, yanking him down a left bearing hallway.

The sudden movement nearly made Kirishima fall, and he just barely righted himself in time to keep from falling. He was about to voice a complaint about how they should try their best to stay in a group before understanding dawned on him. They still needed to find his brother, and they very well couldn’t do that by staying straight. Gripping the charcoal in his fingers, he ran a deep line over the side of the wall as they ran, repeating the process every few yards. He flinched every time the charcoal made contact with a painted mural, but there was no helping it. 

It didn’t take him long to realize that Ochako was no longer with them.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

 

Izuku fell backwards, his shoulder roughly hitting the floor as he rolled. In the next instant he was back on his knees, reaching for the opening even as it shut. 

“Mr. Bak- Katsuki-!” He shouted haltingly. The door sealed shut, entrenching him in darkness. His voice echoed behind him, the sound met with acute silence. No, no, no no no....

This was the absolute worst case scenario. They couldn’t afford to be split up. 

Pressing his palms against the stone, he pushed and shoved at the door for several strained seconds before giving up, his muscles singing. The trigger was likely on the other side, though he couldn’t imagine what it had been. He leaned his forehead against the grated trapdoor, panting softly. 

For a few long moments the only perceivable sensation was the sound of his own breathing, the sudden dark settling over him like a heavy blanket. What if they hadn’t heard him? Couldn’t find him? 

A normal person would fear for their own safety, but Izuku could only imagine how lost they would be without him. Neither one of them knew Egyptian. Bakugou had shown he had an excellent sense of direction the last time they had descended, but there was no guarantee he could replicate those results, especially under the chaotic circumstances. He had to find his way back to them.

A muffled voice from the other side of the wall. It was faint, very faint, but audible all the same. Izuku perked up, pounding back against it. 

“Katsuki- Kirishima?!” He tried, raising his voice. The sound seemed even louder in the dark, and he flinched. “Ocha…?” He said, softer. There was no way they’d be able to hear him, and he felt along the ridges of the stone. He could feel where the doorway was, but the rest of it was smooth. Even if there was a carving of some kind, he’d be able to translate it through touch… 

“Stay calm, think it through…” He muttered to himself. If he was going to get through this, he had to approach this rationally. He patted himself down, but the only thing he had tucked in his belt was his journal. It was a miracle the thing hadn’t fallen off of him. He flipped through the pages blindly, letting his fingers tell him where to go. His father had always been so reserved when describing his adventures, but if there was one thing he’d instilled in him…

“A good adventurer is always prepared.” Izuku recited, smiling. Tucked in the back pages of his journal, he had a few matches pocketed in the leather. He could only hope that their dip into Nile hadn’t made them completely useless. 

He scraped the tip of the match against the floor, his heart lifting as it sparked and blew to life. The light was small and weak, and he cupped it gently with his palm, wary of it blowing out. He could barely see his hands in front of him, and he gently lifted to his feet, reaching out into the dark to find the closest wall. He followed it until he reached an alcove, with a short pedestal holding a pan. It was similar to the ones in the Anubis chamber.

“Gods be thanked.” Izuku breathed. He dropped the match in the pan, wincing only slightly as the oil caught ablaze, the room filling with a soft light. Now all he had to do was get a torch, and he’d be golden. 

Pride sparked in his chest at his competence. Bakugou’s words from a few days earlier echoed in his head. _‘Am I just going to have to babysit you this whole fucking trip?_ ’

A smile worked its way onto Izuku’s face. “Not this time around, it seems.” He answered aloud, lifting a torch from a nearby grate. Maybe once he found his way back to them and helped them out of the ruins, he’d feel a little more useful. One step closer to not being a deadweight.

Dipping the torch tip in the oil, he lifted the flame over to the nearest door’s archway, his eyes running over the inscriptions. There were several symbols he hadn’t seen before, and the urge to pull out his journal and record them was almost too much a temptation to resist. Nevertheless, he pushed his curiosity back down. Not only did he have to find his companions, but the longer they stayed underground, the higher the likelihood that they would run into those scarabs again.

The mere thought of them sent a cold shudder racing down his spine. Definitely no time to record anything. 

Switching grips, he continued down the corridor, occasionally making a few turns. It was bad luck where he had ended up; there was no direct path back to where they had been. The silver lining was that they were not as deep as he had feared, which only further added to his shock of how big this place was. 

Two rooms in, the tone drastically changed. Every place thus far had been achingly empty, and that fact was unusual considering Hamunaptra’s supposed purpose. But here… Izuku lifted up his torch, examining it in greater detail.

It was a circular room, the center adorned with a large, round table gilded in paints and leaf golds. There were nine chairs strewn about it, each in various states of captured motion. Some were toppled over, while others lay askew beside the borders, like the users had left in a big hurry. But what really caught Izuku’s attention… were the murals.

The nine pharaohs, painted in perfect, precise detail, down to the last pore of their skin. It was wholly different from the rest of the Egyptian paintings he had come across. This kind of realism was unheard of, unpracticed. The characters themselves looked like they could simply walk out of their portraits and greet him, like they hadn’t been dead for thousands of years.

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. This could be the key to unlocking the history behind the pharaohs previous to All Might himself. 

His eyes followed the line to find All Might, his chest lifting in awe. Golden haired and wise looking, the man’s shoulders were broad and strong, his pose relaxed and political. The amount of muscle the man carried on him was both inspiring and equally intimidating. His crisp, sharp blue eyes were deepset, powerful and firm. And yet… He could detect kindness in them. In all the paintings that had been discovered thus far, none had so accurately depicted what he would have looked like in real time. But here... He slowly walked up to it, his fingers tracing the chiseled figure of the legendary pharaoh’s face. For some strange reason, it felt familiar, though he couldn’t place it. It was like the face of somehow he knew. 

He dwelled for a moment longer before reaching for his journal. Bakugou and Kirishima could wait, he thought to himself frantically, he only needed just a few seconds…  
Setting the torch down on the table, he flipped open the pages, hurriedly marking his current location and sketching All Might’s face. It was difficult to replicate the sheer amount of detail, and he loathed that he couldn’t do the painting its appropriate justice. He had packed one of his bulkier cameras, but it was likely resting at the bottom of the Nile by now. He didn’t have time to sketch the other pharaohs, but… His eyes flicked back up, freezing as they saw the pharaoh next to All Might.

What?

His journal drooped as his mouth parted. His mind short circuited, unable to process what he was looking at. This painting...

Delicately framed, sitting in lax repose against a scrawl of inks and papers, a young pharaoh sat in idle curiosity. Messy, curly green hair curled around his face, a gold and lapis headpiece nestling a single, peerless emerald on his forehead. Light freckles were spattered across his olive complexion, spanning the length of his cheeks. His smile was warm and lifting, his expression becoming and soft. And yet... his posture bespoke great strength, a glint of intellectual passion storming behind those kind, fathomless eyes. 

It looked like… _Him_.

Izuku stumbled backwards, his lower back meeting the edge of the table, a chair clattering to the floor beside him. The noise was deafening in the dead silence. His heart stuttered in his chest, and he found himself unable to look away from the viridescent green eyes gazing back at him. Impossible.

Like a man possessed, his hands moved of their own volition, the pen barely clasped between his fingers as he shakily traced out a sketch. 

This ruler had been the last recorded pharaoh of the All Might era, before the city and its surrounding elements had suddenly vanished without a trace, all findable records destroyed and chipped away. All of the true names of the pharaohs had been long lost, and this pharaoh was said to be the cause of it all. 

All Might’s only child, his sole heir to the throne- 

“Deku.” 

A few reeling moments passed before Izuku tore his eyes away, studying the drawing in his journal. It looked almost like a self portrait, the only definite difference between them their clothing and adornments. His hand went up to touch his face, his fingers absently tracing the freckled constellations across his cheeks, mirrored perfectly in the image before him. 

A sharp scuffle and a low moan shattered his concentration, and his head swiveled towards the noise. 

The room remained empty, but he surely hadn’t just imagined that. Closing his journal he tucked it back into his waistbelt, giving Deku’s portrait one final look of longing before grabbing his torch and hesitantly making his way down the hallway, towards the source of the noise.

For a moment, he thought he’d lost it, before the moan sounded again. It sounded like the person was in incredible pain. Izuku felt his heart rate begin to pick up as he struggled to find the source of the noise. Had someone been injured? Perhaps one of the of the diggers who had gotten lost in the dark?

The agonizing groan sounded again, even louder. Izuku twisted around a corner, entering another long room. It was long, with tall columns lining either side of it. At the top of the room was an iron portrait of a scarab beetle and its respective gods in high relief. Lifting his torch, the light cast upon a low, kneeling figure on the ground.

The man was facing away from him, so it took Izuku a moment to place him. “Mr. Donovan?” He greeted, stepping forward. The man appeared to be without a light; had he tripped in the darkness? 

The man didn’t immediately respond. “Walter?” Izuku tried again, escalating to his first name.

With a sudden, piercing cry, Walter suddenly started clawing himself forward, his legs kicking out like the couldn’t find purchase against the floor. Izuku startled backwards, a touch of fear starting to ignite in his chest. 

The feeling of dread ignited once more in his stomach, and his knees started to weaken. He had to get out. _No_ , he shook his head, dispelling the thought. “Walter, please, are you injured?” Izuku asked, his voice shaking. Stepping forward, he bent down and grasped the man by the shoulder, tilting him to the side so he could see his face. 

Nothing on earth could have prevented the shrill, despairing cry that wailed out of Izuku’s mouth.

Gone. Walter’s eyes were _gone_. Deep, bloody sockets that were hollowed out into his skull, red lines of blood still trailing down his cheeks and wetting the sand. 

The torch fell from Izuku’s hands, rattling against the floor as he nearly fell backwards. He threw his arm out in front of his face, muffling his voice within his inner arm. His heart pounded out of his chest. Gods, what could have done this? They were gone, _gone_.

Fighting the mounted horror, Izuku reached for Walter’s shoulder again. Eyes or no eyes, he was still a human in need of help. He refused to simply leave him. “Walter, we need to group up with the others.” Izuku pleaded, trying to keep the panic out of his tone. Whatever had done this; the danger might still be close by. 

Walter fought every attempt that Izuku made to right him on his feet, instead shouting out nonsensically, his words heavily slurred and lilted. He wasn’t making any sense. Yelling nonsense, Walter swung his arm wildly, his fist smacking against Izuku’s lower jaw, causing his head to snap the side. Izuku stumbled backwards, seeing stars. His lip stung, and he gingerly pressed the heel of his hand up against it. It pulled away bloody.

Optionless, he backed up even further as Walter continued to strike out. It was no use; Izuku didn’t have the strength to move him by himself if he refused to cooperate. But the fact remained that he couldn’t just leave him alone in here; even if it was to go get help. His eyes caught on Walter’s neck. The skin looked like it had been horrifically burned. The story of the diggers who had been melted came to mind. Another pressurized salt acid trap? But that wouldn’t have had that effect on his eyes- it wouldn’t have _gouged_ them out-

A sudden surge of heat filled the room, stealing away his breath. Why was it getting so hot? Fingering his collar, Izuku bent down again, trying one final time to reach out and calm Walter, whose moans were growing louder and more desperate. Izuku dodged another wild swing, the heat in the room getting more and more intense.

Gods, it had to be well over a hundred degrees by now. Any hotter and they’d both have a heat stroke. “Walter, _please-_ ” Izuku begged, “It’s Midoriya - I’m Kirishima’s brother; you played poker with him on the cruise ship a few days ago-”

His words didn’t seem to be having any effect. He had no choice; he had to go and find Katsuki and Kirishima, he couldn’t move Walter otherwise. When he turned to rush down the corridor, another shudder of dread locked his torso, freezing him in his tracks.

Like on a reel, his head slowly swiveled to look behind him.

Two piercing red eyes bored into him from the other side of the room.

The heat was beyond stifling now, his heart jack knifing in his chest as the bearer of those demonic eyes loomed closer to him, each step lopsided and rigid. Its body lurked in the shadows, tall and intimidating. The form bespoke human, but its aura was anything but. The dread pitting in Izuku’s stomach twisted, snuffing out his breath. 

The tingling returned to his fingers with startling intensity, covering his hands and arms until the energy climaxed to a low roar. His chest soared even as his heart faltered, fear driving him to stumble backwards, his eyes vacating as his mind fizzled. No… This thing wasn’t human.

“Who…” Izuku demanded, his voice weak. “Who are you?” 

The shadow continued to move, finally stepping into the light. Izuku inhaled sharply. Its body was rotting and disfigured, the flesh rolling off of its yellowed, exposed bones in gray, slimy clumps. The face was devoid of all distinguishable characteristics, save for two round, globed eyeballs that popped out of either socket. They were bloodshot, the iris glowing a wicked red.

It was the mummy. The one from the sarcophagus. Izuku’s reality started to bend. His knees started to shake. For every step the mummy took, Izuku took two more backwards.  
The creature’s eyes trained on him, the scalding red burning right through him. Izuku could almost feel the hot slide of its gaze as it slowly leered over him, top to bottom. 

From some dark depth in the mummy’s festering throat, a sound rasped through. “ _Khi’al diesh ah vehck._ ” It hissed, each consonant harshly grating through its broken jaw.

It was speaking. It was actually _speaking_. Izuku retreated even further, until his back slammed against the wall. Nowhere left to go. His knees almost buckled. He willed his legs to move further, but they wouldn’t. His eyes quickly glanced over to where Walter was still crawling across the ground, his moans barely audible above Izuku’s own heartbeat.

The mummy followed his gaze, its own eyes resting on Walter’s crawling, retreating figure. It took a lopsided step towards him, its large, decaying arm reaching out to grab him-

“ _Lyroha! Khi’al greha ahck mae!_ ” Izuku cried out without thinking. His words had their desired effect; the mummy once more turning its putrid gaze towards him.

Its gruesome head tilted as it scrutinized him, moving even closer. “ _Albetah, rahck khi’al._ ” It growled. 

Izuku shrunk even farther against the wall as it approached him, the boiling temperature in the room heating his skin until it was flushed. His breathing shortened, chest tightening. This was it. Toshinori Yagi’s son dead somewhere in the wide depths of the Egyptian desert, all because he couldn’t get his own head far enough out of his ass.

Mere moments before the mummy grabbed him, a shrill, screeching hiss sounded in the corner. Izuku just barely turned his head in time to see Ochako zip past the corner, her fur standing on high end, her fangs bared.

“Ocha!” 

She vaulted herself in front of Izuku her yowling hitting an octave Izuku didn’t think possible.

The mummy drew back almost immediately, its red eyes igniting with pure wrath at the sight of her. Her tail bristled in challenge, and she swiped the air out in front of her in warning, fearless. Izuku felt dizzy as the realization struck him. Of course - cats were considered the messengers of the underworld. If there was anything the undead was to fear…

“Izuku!” Bakugou rounded the corner, his eyes immediately focusing in on him. He saw Izuku pressed up against the wall as tight as his body would allow, his face flushed and eyes glistening. He looked like he was ready to pass out. Ignoring the blistering heat, Bakugou surged forward, seizing him by his clothes. He nearly hauled him into his chest. “From this point forward, you’re not fucking leaving my side, you hear me?” 

Izuku leaned into him, tangling a fist into his shirt. Honestly Bakugou could say absolutely anything right now and it would still be music to his ears. 

Heart beating in rapid fire, Izuku jerked his head back towards the mummy, his hands still numb. They had to get out _now_. He tried to shove Bakugou back to the door, but it was like trying to move a brick wall.

“What the fuck are you-” Bakugou growled, holding him in place. He followed Izuku’s terrified gaze, eyes widening almost comically as he finally noticed the mummy.

“ _HOLY FUCKING SHIT-_ ” 

Izuku was nearly thrown as Bakugou wrenched his revolver out of its holster, immediately firing three shots dead center into the mummy’s forehead. The corpse fell backwards, emitting an unearthly, ear shattering cry. The next moment Izuku was whirled to his feet, and they were running headfirst down the hallway before he even had time to blink.

Kirishima nearly ran into them. “Izuku! Thank the gods I was so worried-” He spread his arms out like he was ready to embrace him, but Bakugou smashed through, nearly sending Kirishima sprawling on the floor. “Whoah! Why are we still running?” He called out after them, tripping over himself as he hurried to follow.

Izuku’s mind raced. “No, _wait-!_ ” Walter was still in that room; they had to go back and get him; he was completely helpless and needed medical attention. Gritting his teeth, he dug his heels against the floor, tugging against Bakugou’s grip to halt him. 

A second later, Bakugou stopped in his tracks. Before Izuku could even open his mouth, the man whirled and ducked underneath his left side, hooking Izuku’s midriff against him. Without a word, Bakugou threw him over his shoulder, banding a strong arm against his thighs before continuing down the hallway.

Izuku’s face caught fire, a surge of both embarassment and indignance igniting in his chest. “ _Put me down this instant!_ ” He struggled to get off, grabbing a handful of his shirt for leverage as he squirmed, but Bakugou’s grip was like steel. 

Humilation coarsed through him. _So much for being useful._

“What about the locusts?” Kirishima voiced, trailing closely behind. He gave Izuku an apologetic look. His brother wasn’t going to live this down. 

“I don’t hear them anymore.” Bakugou replied, his voice rough. “The swarm likely kept moving. Besides; they’re starting to look like the lesser evil.” He adjusted his grip on Izuku’s thighs, tossing him slightly. 

Izuku yelped in protest, his patience rapidly thinning. He would usually consider himself too dignified to start beating Bakugou over the head, but he was rapidly reaching that point. A moment passed before he realized he had muttered that out loud. He bit his lip. If Bakugou had heard that statement, he didn’t comment. Izuku took a few deep breaths, struggling to maintain his composure. A ways further, he started recognizing the tunnels. “We’re going back the way we came.” Izuku said, shock coloring his tone. “But I thought you caved it in-”

“There’s no other fucking exit.” Bakugou spat back. “We’ll have to clear it out by hand.” It was a huge fucking pain in the ass, but there was no other option.

“But what about the preparation room-? Izuku argued. The rope was still there, they hadn’t moved it-

“You’re not capable of climbing up thirty feet of rope.” Bakugou said with finality. The grip around Izuku’s thighs tightened.

Izuku’s comeback wobbled under that statement. “You don’t know that.” He countered, his voice quieting slightly. He was no Hercules, but he had climbed down by himself; how hard could climbing back up be?

Bakugou didn’t grace that with an answer, a low scoff puffing past his lips. A few strides more and he abruptly stopped. 

Izuku craned his neck, struggling to hold himself upright against his back. “What is it?” His eyes scanned the areas around them. Had the mummy caught up with them? Were the scarabs back? They were so close to the entrance…

“I heard someone talking.” Bakugou murmured. He lowered his shoulder, rolling Izuku back to the ground. Izuku breathed out a grateful sigh as he righted his shirt. Bakugou kept a wary arm extended around him, his body tense and alert.

Kirishima leaned in close, keeping his voice down. “Does it matter if you’ve heard someone?” He asked, nodding his chin towards their destination. “It’s probably just the Americans. We should go and start uncovering the doorway-”

“The Americans don’t speak Arabic.” Bakugou said blandly. He pulled out his revolver, popping open the barrel and reloading it with a few quick snaps. He turned to Kirishima. “Go start uncovering the door.” He said measuredly, cocking the hammer back. 

Kirishima gave him one last worried glance before nodding, turning to continue down the last stretch of the hallway. Izuku went to follow, but a rough hand held him back. 

“ _You-_ ” Bakugou growled, his lip curling back, “Stay fucking glued to me.” He accented each word with a pointed finger. 

A flurry of statements regarding his ability to properly take of himself started to jingle in Izuku’s head, but his thought process was abruptly startled as a rough hand gripped his chin, jerking it upwards.

Bakugou ran a thumb over the upper corner of Izuku’s lip, which was still bloody from where Walter had accidentally hit him. His brows knit together. “How the fuck did this happen?”

Izuku waved his hand aside, shaking his head free. Was this really the time? Of all things, this was the question he asked? “It was an accident, and hardly the most notable injury I’ve received this past week.” He absently ran a finger over the stitches in his palm. They would have to pull them out later, and the thought wasn’t pleasant.

His dismissive answer clearly didn’t satisfy Bakugou, but after a moment of deliberation, he let it slide. They’d talk about this later. “Stay behind me.” Bakugou repeated. 

Izuku nodded, working the inside of his lip with his teeth. He wondered if he should get in contact with his father. Even professor Aizawa might be able to offer some answers. A mummy wasn’t able to just get up and walk around - this all had to be connected in some way. And those portraits… 

“Mumbling.” 

Oops. Izuku quickly shut his jaw, flicking his eyes back up at him. Instead of anger, Bakugou had a searching expression, and Izuku’s heart fluttered when he saw the man’s eyes had drifted back down to his lips, holding a strange heat.

Unsure what to make of it, Izuku lifted a self conscious hand to his mouth, partially covering it as a flush prickled on his cheeks. Huh? For a moment neither one of them moved, before Bakugou finally broke gazes and wordlessly started down another corridor.

Izuku bit his tongue, trailing behind him as they skirted past a few of the columns, occasionally stopping so Bakugou could pause and listen. That had been… unusual. Borderline out of character. He’d seen the same look in his eyes back in the Cairo prison. He tried to ignore the fluttering sensation in his stomach, biting his nails to distract himself. He wasn’t sure why Bakugou was insisting on waiting in the ruins, following unseen voices. They should be helping Kirishima clear out the exit-

A shot rang out, jolting Izuku out of his reverie, and he quickly covered his ears with his hands. Bakugou cursed next to him, twisting to seek cover beside a hallway corner, pulling Izuku with him. But who was firing? The diggers wouldn’t shoot at them, and the Americans knew them…

Out of the corner of his eye, Izuku saw a flicker of movement. His head shot up, just barely glimpsing the dark figure before it vanished. A man, cloaked entirely in black, a scimitar hanging from his hip. Understanding ripped through him.

_The horsemen._

In the chaos he had entirely forgotten. The horsemen had promised they would return; Mummy and scarabs or no, how could he have _forgotten_ that damning detail? Here they were, chasing off these warriors, and Kirishima was over by the doorway, completely defenseless. Gods, did his brother even _have a weapon?_

His hands went back up to cover his ears even as Bakugou pivoted and returned fire, the shots incredibly loud in the narrow hallways. He’d been hearing gunshots this whole journey, but he still couldn’t get used to the noise, his ears ringing.

He had to get to his brother. To warn him, maybe bring him something to defend himself with... "I need to find Kirishima." He shouted over the noise. 

Bakugou turned his head, his gaze venomous. "Don't _fucking_ move. He can take care of himself."

"Not without a weapon!"

Bakugou ignored him, continuing to shoot down the hallway, the bullets ricocheting all over the place. Fighting the urge to curse himself, Izuku’s eyes flicked to Bakugou’s gun belt, where he had one of his pistols still hanging in its holster. This was a bad idea, a very bad idea. He waited for the next barrage of bullets to complete before he reached over, plucking the gun from its restraint. It was far heavier than he’d expected it to be.

Without pausing, Izuku whirled around, running towards the ruin entrance. Bad idea, so very very bad. But he’d be right back. Bakugou’s reaction was immediate and equally explosive. Izuku had barely made it a few steps before the loud, incredibly vicious barrage of curses erupted behind him. He heard Bakugou shout his name several times in between swears, but he ignored him, the sound eventually drowned out by gunfire. He nearly tripped as Ochako weaved through his legs, vocalizing insistantly.

“I’m sorry Ocha, please move!” Izuku pleaded, stepping over her. His brother would be just down this hallway-

It was already cleared. 

He faltered, heart stuttering. The doorway was open, the rock fragmented to reveal the open and clear night sky, the stars once again visible in the horizon. Fresh air breezed through, clearing his lungs of the tomb’s dank, recycled air. But no; the entire thing had caved in, there was no way Kirishima could have cleared it all by now.

Concern lanced through his chest, and he raced towards the entrance. The instant he cleared the doorway, he tried to yell his brother’s name.

“Kirishi- _Mmmph!_ ”

He had made it no more than a few feet from the entrance before a gloved hand slapped over his mouth, effectively silencing him. 

Before he could process, let alone break away, the stranger also grabbed his torso, jacketing his arms to his sides. He was roughly dragged away from the entrance.

Izuku’s mind went into overdrive. The entire entrance was surrounded by the horsemen, their mounts distanced away so their whinnying would not betray their position. Men in black littered all over the camp, rifles out and ready, scimitars drawn. He saw Kirishima a ways away, struggling with his own set of warriors. 

Ochako was promptly scruffed as she bolted out herself, a pair of men scooping her off the ground with lightning speed. Izuku shouted in protest, the sound muffled by the fabric.

Wrenching his head to the side, Izuku got a look at his captor.

It was the leader. His heterochromatic eyes were narrowed, his mouth set in a tight line. The red part in his hair was slightly askew, partially covering the burn mark around his single blue eye.

_Shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing


	15. Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> please don't punch old people

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me finally arriving with the incredibly late chapter update: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9fA3hxJvSAY
> 
> I rewrote this thing probably about 6-7 times and may continue to tweak it. It's a smidge longer than normal chapters. Not sure why it gave me as much trouble as it did.
> 
>  
> 
> -

He had only seconds to react.

Seizing the revolver hilt, Izuku managed to aim the gun backwards towards his captor, cocking the barrel back the way he’d seen Bakugou do it a million times-

The leader twisted his hand the moment his finger grazed the trigger. 

With a loud, ear splitting bang, the bullet whizzed just past the leader’s side, ripping a small hole in his black cloak. With another wrenching movement, he yanked Izuku’s wrist an unnatural direction, forcing him to drop the gun with a stifled cry.

“ _Be still_.” The warrior hissed. He kicked the gun away in the sand, forcibly pulling him back even farther. He struggled to keep his hold on Izuku as he kicked and fought. “ _La tuqatiluni!_ I take no pleasure in this.” 

Izuku’s heart raced as they approached the warrior’s stallion, which was dancing in unease it watched the two of them get closer. Its round, black eyes were focused on Izuku’s thrashing figure, its head rearing upwards as his kicking legs nearly clipped its sides.

“ _Sheb rayiys_ , if you do not calm yourself I will have to tie you.” The leader grit through his clenched teeth, his hold tightening. “I would rather not do that.”

Izuku didn’t stop struggling, but he quit wildly thrashing, balking under the idea of being bound. “Why are you doing this?!” He demanded, his tone bordering on desperate. Flashbacks of the previous night’s fight came rushing back to his mind as the leader’s stallion whinnied in unease, looking ready to bolt as they reached the side of the saddle. The moment he was put on that horse he’d be lost to the desert. 

“I do this for all our sakes, including yours.” The leader grit. “ _Laqad hadhartak, almuelim alsaghir._ I told you to leave; you did not. Now you may have doomed us all.” His eyes flashed at that final sentence.

Curiosity and surprise leaked through Izuku’s panic. Did he mean the mummy? He knew about the curse? “I don’t understand,” He stressed, “How will kidnapping us solve anything?” 

“I will explain everything to you, _‘aedak_. You have my word. But not here, not now.” He swiveled Izuku towards the saddle, his face unreadable. “Mount, please.” 

A beat of silence passed between them as Izuku did nothing, his face indignant and eyes equally determined. His eyes flashed to Kirishima and Ochako, who were both fighting with their respective captors. Ochako had already sunk her teeth into the arm of the man who had managed to scruff her, her tail puffed out and furious as she tried to claw herself free.

Her rough treatment had Izuku moving once again, held back only by the strong, black cloaked arms of the dual warrior. 

“We are not some wandering rogue of bandits, _rayiys_.” The leader pressed, his waning patience starting to show. His sharp eyes hardened, and he swiveled Izuku towards the horse once more. “Now, _rayiys._ ”

“I have no reason to trust you.” Izuku pointed out, his heart still pounding. His hand reluctantly sought the side of the saddle under the leader’s commanding aura, but he made no move to get on.

“ _‘Afahum_ , you do not.” The leader acknowledged. “But our families have long history together, and by my honor as a _muharib_ , I would not so easily disrespect that good will.”

That statement stunned him. Their families? They knew each other? Izuku racked his brain, trying to remember if his mother or father had ever mentioned a band of black horsemen at any point. He shook his head, recalling nothing. “I’ve heard no mention of you.” Izuku countered, suspicion causing him to pull away again. If he could break free, he could make another dive for the revolver-

“ _‘Ana tahdhir-_ ” The leader said, his hold strengthening further, “Last chance before I pull out the rope, _rayiys._ ” Despite his obvious impatience, his tone remained calm and measured. 

Izuku internally debated his chances of breaking free. The numbers were definitely not in his favor. There were still men stationed on either side of the tomb opening, undoubtedly waiting for more people to exit. Would Bakugou be next? No, he had to know there was something wrong by now. 

The leader followed his gaze. “You would rely on that soldier to help you?”

Izuku was surprised by the venom in the leader’s voice. “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. We can solve this some other way-”

“There is no other way.” The leader pressed. He took a few decisive steps forward, about to toss suspicious Cairo scholar over the saddle himself, before a few voices caught his attention. His imperious gaze rested on Izuku for a few moments longer, before turning towards the source of the racket.

A group of horsemen rounded the corner, and Izuku inhaled sharply as he saw them dragging Neito and Antonin between them. They looked battered and dingy, their holsters empty and bullets spent. When the leader approached them, Neito spat in the dirt at his feet.

“Savage bastards.” Neito snarled. The cut on his forehead had reopened, a slow trickle of blood making its way down the side of his face. Antonin remained quiet beside him, the livid scowl on his face speaking for him. 

The leader didn’t grace the insult with a reply, instead turning towards a pair of soldiers dragging another figure. A wave of relief swept through Izuku as he recognized it as Iida. So he had made it out of the ruins. He was alive. His relief was short lived as he noticed the man struggling to walk, his footsteps unsteady and strained.

The instant the horsemen let go, Iida fell to his knees with a small cry, the Book of the Dead still clutched in his fingers, his glasses just barely hanging off of his face. The bottom of his trousers were ripped and torn, the skin just barely visible in the low light. Izuku felt a pang of heat in his heart as he looked closer. His legs appeared to be bruised and discolored, the muscles clenched, veins close to bursting. What could have done that?

“ _Kitab almawtaa._ ” The leader hissed, staring at the book in his hands.

A low rush of cries went across the horsemen, a few of them making sigils across their chest as the name crossed their lips. “ _Kitab almawtaa… Kitab almawtaa… Alalihat tahmi, tahmi-_ ”

For the millionth time on this journey, Izuku berated himself for not learning Arabic. If he ever made it back to Cairo, he swore to himself, the very first thing he was going to do was learn to fluently speak all nine dialects, gods help him.

They all appeared to be frightened of the book, though it came as no shock. With all the dabbling in curses today Izuku was starting to question the sanity of keeping any artifact from the city at all. 

“ _Laqad wajadna akhar!_ ”

Another pair of horsemen came from the mouth of the ruins themselves, and Izuku’s heart stopped. They dragged a limp body between them on the ground, and for a wild moment Izuku thought it was Bakugou.

His fears dissipated as he saw the limp man’s hair was brown, not blonde. The man's shirt was covered in dirt and blood, and Izuku quickly identified him as Walter. So they had found him. A knot loosened in his stomach even as another one wound even tighter. Where was Bakugou?

They pulled Walter towards the Americans, letting go as Antonin pulled himself free, catching Walter before his head hit the ground. A sharp hiss rang through his teeth as he turned him over, revealing the empty eye sockets. The blood around them had dried, cracking as the man continued to moan in pain. 

“You fucking bastards.” Antonin growled, turning his livid, horrified gaze towards the leader. “What the _fuck_ have you done to him?!”

The leader’s eyes narrowed. “We saved him.” He said tightly. “Stopped the monster from finishing his work.”

“What kind of fucking nonsense is that?” Neito demanded, his teeth baring in a snarl.

The leader’s face soured further, but he did not reply. “ _Kafaa hura’!_ ” He shouted, motioning to the men. “ _Nahn naakhudh hula' alrijal alan, nuasil 'iijad alakhirin!_ ” 

The horsemen sparked into motion, a large majority of them pulling their rifles from their backs, unsheathing their scimitars. They went back into the mouth of the ruins one by one, until all but thirty of them remained outside. 

It looked like they were going to lay Hamunaptra under siege. 

The leader’s posture was stiff as he walked back towards Izuku, his face grim. “We will be leaving now, _sheb rayiys._ ” His expression was guarded, and he reached for him. “I will help you mount the saddle.”

“ _Don’t_ touch me.” Izuku warned. He cast furtive glances to the men around him. Running would be useless, he wouldn’t make it very far before being caught. Yet another skill he should have learned: fighting. 

The leader held his palms up in a show of peace as he advanced. “Calm, _rayiys_. You are safe with me.” After a moment of thought, his eyes trailed down to the journal tucked in Izuku’s waistbelt. " _Ma hdha?_ You keep a journal?”

Izuku blinked, and it occurred to him that the leader was trying to redirect his attention to calm him. He bit his lip. It wasn’t his journal he wanted to talk about. “You know about the mummy?” He stared pointedly at the horsemen entering the tombs, heavily armed. 

There was a beat of silence, and for a long moment, Izuku thought that the leader would look at him like he was crazy. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he was crazy; but the expression on the leader’s face quickly turned grim, his eyes cast over with a haunted glaze.

"Yes. As it seems, now, do you." A low breeze whistled through the city, lightly tousling their hair and making them both shudder. "We have feared this creature for more than three thousand years.” The man said quietly, “And now you have set off a chain of events that we would have otherwise spared you from.”

Izuku shook his head, crossing his arms at the sudden brush of cold, even more confused. "If it's that... _thing_ you fear, then there isn't any need for this. We already shot him in the head, dead center, several times-"

"No _mortal_ weapon can kill this creature." The leader quickly countered, his voice slightly raising. "It is no longer _of this world._ " There was a moment of quiet after his outburst. Under Izuku's bewildered and disconcerted expression, he sighed, looking past him. “I cannot explain here.” He said, stepping closer. " _'Ateni._ "

When Izuku tried to back up, his back met the saddle. Nothing left to do. This was it. They were about to leave. Once in the desert, he had no way of finding his way back to here, much less the Bedouin outpost, Cairo, or the Nile. Not even his father would likely be able to track him down for several months, if he and Aizawa were even able to discern where he had gone.

The moment the leader touched his arm, an explosion went off.

**BOOM!**

It went off so suddenly, so closely, that Izuku was barely able to turn his face away in time to shield it, the light and blast momentarily blinding and deafening him. 

The horse behind him reared, a shrill shriek erupting from it as it startled backwards. Shouts resounded throughout the entire city, mixed with the sound of falling rocks and debree as everything was cast into a sudden thrill of bewilderment.

Before the air could settle, another set of explosions went off, shockwaves blasting through the city.

**BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!**

The air ripped past Izuku, and he was forced to squeeze his eyes shut to protect them from flying rubble and sand. He couldn’t even begin to make sense of the chaos around him as the horse startled even more, rearing even farther backwards with a shriek, mere seconds away from bolting. 

Not even a moments silence went by before another large chain of explosions went off, coming from what felt like every direction. Men were running and shouting in the uproar, aiming their guns towards each blast, desperately looking for a target even as they rolled and ducked in the sand to take cover. Horses were panicking, some fleeing the city altogether before their riders could seize the reins and control them. 

Through his squinted eyes, Izuku could see that the opening to Hamunaptra had once again fallen, sealing the warriors who had made their way in. The tower had tilted over, collapsing in a heap of indiscernible rock and rubble. Despite the imminent danger, a hot flash of outrage surged in Izuku’s chest. The city was being blown to pieces.

The leader had completely lost control of the stallion, and was trying to shout orders to the few men left on the surface of the city. A few of them appeared to be trying to listen, but the explosions were deafening and further adding to the confusion. 

Izuku ducked to the side as the stallion whinnied again, kicking up its heels in fear. The leader turned towards them, quickly reaching over to try and calm the prancing horse before it bolted.

The instant his hands brushed the reins, a single gunshot rang out.

Snapping his arm back, the leader let out a muffled shout of pain as he clutched it to his chest. His gaze turned venemous as he grabbed a forgotten gun from the ground, aiming it towards the unseen attacker.

From out of the shadows, another horseman appeared, and to both Izuku and the leader’s alarm, he twisted the rifle out of the leader’s grip before he could react, slamming the butt of the stock into his head. 

The leader fell to the ground with force, his hand automatically drawing out his sword as he tried to roll back onto his feet. By the time he had gotten back up, the rogue horsemen had already moved, seizing the reins of the panicking stallion and sharply jerking its head to the side, throwing himself over the side of the saddle. 

Teeth grit, the leader swung at the rogue's legs as he whipped by, the stallion nearly plowing him over in the sand as they hurtled through. The reins were harshly ripped to the side again and they pivoted to charge once more. The stallion's eyes were bordered white, its neck high in alarm, movements jerky as it kicked and reared. In its panic, the leader received a swift kick to the shoulder, sending him once more to the ground, where he didn't immediately get back up.

For a few wild seconds Izuku was unsure of what to do. Should he grab another horse and ride away? Run for his brother and Ocha? The thought of the others had his feet already in motion, running towards the last place he had seen them.

A shrill whinny had him turning his head back around, his eyes widening.

The attacking warrior had swiveled the stallion towards him, digging their heels into its side. It was like setting off a piston, the horse surging forward like a speeding bullet. 

Izuku could only manage a few startled steps backwards before the warrior leaned halfway out of the saddle as they passed, seizing his arm and shirt, hauling him up and over the back of the horse with incredible strength. It felt like his arm was being pulled out of its socket, and he nearly toppled off as soon as he was on.

The rogue kept their steel grip, holding him in place. He was distantly aware of shouting, a few shots of gunfire sounding off before it abruptly stopped. Looking back in a daze, he saw the leader, clutching his injured shoulder, pulling a rifle from one of the horsemen and throwing it to the ground, yelling. For just a mere moment, their eyes locked, and Izuku could see hint of anger penetrate the leader’s calm facade as he was ridden further and further away. But who had him?

The ground was a blur beneath them, each of the stallion’s strides long and jolting. Unsure of what else to do, Izuku held on for dear life as they rocketed out of the city. His heart and mind raced as they cleared the outer perimeter of the city walls, the chaotic cloud of other horsemen quickly vanishing from sight.

Determination renewed in his chest. He couldn't let himself be whisked off by some rogue stranger, even if they were taking him out of the horsemen's reach. Izuku tried to wrench himself free of the unknown man’s steel grip. He didn’t make any progress, the stranger’s hold firm and unyielding. 

With a single tug, Izuku’s arm was yanked forward, and his chest knocked into the stranger’s back. He could feel their heat through the dark fabric, and a wisp of a familiar scent penetrated through his panicked haze. An enticing mix of sweat, spice, and gunpowder. 

“Quit fighting me, brat!” The man fumed.

Izuku stilled, his arms going lax as the startlingly familiar voice instinctively soothed the knot in his gut. No way. 

With a low barrage of curses, the stranger partially turned in the saddle to face him. Izuku immediately recognized the sharp, piercing red eyes glaring back at him. 

“ _K- Katsuki?_ ” Izuku spluttered, disbelieving. 

With an angry jerk, Bakugou pulled away the black veil that had shrouded the lower half of his face. His mouth was twisted in a livid scowl. “I told you to _stay close._ What the _fuck_ were you thinking?”

Relief momentarily robbed Izuku of his voice, and for a moment nothing but the pounding of the stallion’s hooves in the sand beat inside of his head. “They got Kirishima.” He managed, his chest feeling weak. A million questions went through his head before he focused in on that one thought. Kirishima. His brother.

Izuku’s head swiveled to look behind them. Four fast moving shadows drifted a few hundred feet away from them, the riders indistinguishable in the low light. Was his brother one of those shadows? It was impossible to tell from here, and Bakugou showed no signs of slowing down. 

The stallion leapt unexpectedly over a small mound, and Izuku dug his hands into the dark fabric of Bakugou’s disguise to remain steady. They were still moving incredibly fast, the animal’s muscles straining beneath them as it carried them both with shocking ease.

“I told you to let him take care of himself.” Bakugou hissed. “Now due to your own idiocy, I had to drag _both_ of your asses out of this mess. _And_ I’m short one fucking revolver!”

A twinge of guilt twisted in Izuku’s chest. He felt genuinely bad about the revolver. “Is Kirishima behind us?” He looked back over his shoulder, squinting his eyes to see better in the dark.

“He grabbed a camel in the confusion. Beyond that, it’s his fucking problem.”

Izuku bit his lip in worry. There was no telling who had made it out until dawn broke. “They’re going to follow us.”

“No shit.” Bakugou scoffed. “But that two colored freak is going to have a hard time following without his stupid horse.” The thought seemed to amuse him, and a satisfied sneer lit his face. 

Despite Bakugou’s confidence, Izuku wasn’t as convinced. “I think that just gives him more reason to chase us.” He said lamely. So far there were only those four shadows behind them, but his eyes scanned the horizon, expecting more to appear at any second. 

“Yeah? They’ll be digging that entrance open for hours.” Bakugou countered. It had been too easy. They’d left most of the camp supplies laying out in the open, and nobody had questioned or even noticed him when he started to rig the explosives.

“Parts of the city is in _pieces._ ” Izuku grumbled against his back. What may have lasted for several more generations was reduced to rubble within seconds. He cast his gaze backwards, looking past the following shadows. 

Hamunaptra had already vanished from sight, the desert concealing the mythical city in a drift of sanded haze. If he stared closely he could nearly imagine the outline of the buildings, but the farther they went, the more the figure started to fade. Eventually the only marker that the city was ever there were the faint wisps of flaming smoke that slowly wandered into the speckled sky. 

Soon they would have nothing but the horizon.

“Where do we go now?” Izuku questioned, speaking past the sudden lump in his throat. 

“If we can keep ahead long enough, we can risk the outpost. If not, we’ll head straight for the Nile and follow it back to Cairo.” Bakugou said decisively. Their current mount was a powerful creature, certainly, but wouldn’t hold the same endurance as a camel. They would either have to swap at the outpost, or keep going at a slower pace against the river.

Izuku nodded his head mutely, a sudden wave of exhaustion taking over as the adrenaline started to fade. Recent events had effectively pulled out the rug from underneath him, and he didn’t know what to believe anymore. 

Thoughts of Kirishima, Ochako, Iida, and the others swam through his head as they rode on, the images overshadowed with the nightmarish memory of the monster’s dark, looming figure. _We have feared this creature for over three thousand years..._

Hours later, when all remained quiet and the stallion had finally slowed to a spirited walk, Izuku felt his head tip forward to rest against Bakugou’s back. His eyes closed under the haunting recollections, allowing him brief respite in a fitful doze. 

Had this all been a mistake?

\--------------------------------------------------- _Daytime_

 

Bakugou carefully adjusted his position on the saddle, urging the stallion to continue onward with a light tap of the reins. The sun was out full force now, the heat beating down on them mercilessly. He had managed to drape a thin, light scarf over Izuku’s head to protect against sunburn, the bookworm barely stirring as he continued to doze against his back. 

Considering everything that had happened, the scholar had to be completely drained of energy, and it wasn’t surprising that he continued to sleep even as the sun burned overhead. From time to time the he would occasionally mumble, the hands clutching Bakugou’s shirt going impossibly tight. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was dreaming of.

With anybody else, under whatever circumstance, he wouldn’t have put up with this. The two arms wrapped around his torso, tangled in his clothes, a soft mess of curls resting between his shoulder blades. He didn’t let people get close to him. Not like this, anyway. 

Another stir behind him as Izuku adjusted his grip, another series of indecipherable mutterings getting lost in the fabric of his shirt. Instead of a flare of annoyance, he felt a sliver of satisfaction. 

It was that possessive feeling that further validated the fact that he was thoroughly _fucked._

If they made it back to Cairo, he was suddenly uncertain of what he was going to do. At first he was entirely on board with the idea of dragging these morons over and back, then parting with the intention of never having to deal with them again. But now… He was hyper aware of the body pressed against him, currently lost in a restless sleep. 

Fuck. 

When this was over, he wouldn’t be able to just up and leave like he’d planned. Not anymore. The thought had him running a frustrated hand through his hair. Maybe he’d stick around for a while, wait for the feelings to dissipate, for him to pick up another contract...

Izuku stirred again, his one hand moving to rest just below the waist of his trousers, his arm innocently brushing his groin as he quietly murmured his name. 

Heat started to coil in Bakugou’s lower abdomen from the demure contact, sealing his fate.

_Fuck._

\-------------------------------------------- _Outpost_

Izuku felt awful. His back hurt, his butt hurt, and his neck felt so stiff that it just might snap in half if he tried to straighten it. Exhaustion, both mental and physical, managed to hold his eyes shut anyway, and he was drawn out only when an elbow nudged his side, a voice pulling him back into consciousness. 

“Wake up, brat. We’re here.”

Izuku groaned, becoming painfully aware of the harsh sun beating down on him. His eyes stung, his head starting to beat with the beginnings of a headache. He buried himself deeper, trying to escape the light. Five more minutes. Just five...

“Am I going to have to fucking pry you off?”

“Mmmm?” Izuku hummed, his brows furrowing in confusion. Pry him off? Of what? His mind started up again, the world around him coming back into focus. 

Sounds came back first, the air filled with the amiable noise of talking and laughter, the grunts of camels and the clatter of carts. It sounded familiar, and Izuku’s eyes opened, bleary and strained, slowly adjusting to the light.

They were at the outpost, finally. It looked like they were just behind a row of tents, away from the center of the market. It was far busier than the last time he had seen it, no doubt due to the fact that it was midday and not early morning. People were bustling through the tents, carrying and bartering goods. It was nowhere near the crowd you would find at the Cairo marketplace, but it was decently filled all the same. 

It was then that Izuku’s mind focused in on where he was sitting. His body was flush against Bakugou, his arms laced around his front, head buried by his shoulders.

“Oh!” Izuku exclaimed, jolting backwards. He immediately let go, his neck screaming in protest as he veered backwards, a flush igniting across his skin in mortification. “I’m sorry!” In a scrambling motion, he tried to slide off of the saddle to put some much needed distance between them. 

Rushing, he failed to take into account his stiff and uncoordinated muscles. With a small yelp, he spilled over the side, nearly landing headfirst into the sand.

“ _Shit-!_ ” Bakugou’s hand shot out, managing to snatch his arm before he fell, holding him in a precarious position, halfway out of his seat. The stallion snorted, its head lifting in unease as it danced backwards, restrained only by Bakugou’s steady grip on the reins.

Izuku’s embarrassment soared even higher as he was pulled back onto the saddle, wincing under Bakugou’s exasperated glare. “Hold _still_. Before you fucking kill yourself.”

Feeling a bit sheepish, Izuku nodded, wishing the red on his cheeks would simmer down. He had to look like a tomato by now, and he wanted nothing more than to quickly dismount and regain his bearings.

With a low huff, Bakugou hopped off the saddle with far more precision, taking a moment to stretch out his back before leading the stallion over to a nearby post, where he knotted the reins in a simple tie. He went back over to the saddle, extending a hand towards him. “ _Now_ you can get off.”

For a moment Izuku was about to argue; He could get off a horse by himself, please and thank you, but the stern expression on Bakugou’s face told him the man wasn’t open to dispute. With a small sigh, Izuku took his hand. He made a point to not make eye contact when Bakugou’s hand made it to his waist, his heart picking up slightly when it lingered a moment longer than it needed to.

“Thank you.” He murmured, still looking away. There wasn’t much else he could think to say, considering he had been essentially clasping the soldier like an oversized pillow as he slept. 

“Hey.” Bakugou snapped his fingers together, drawing Izuku out of his troubled thoughts. His scowl deepened, and he leaned in close, his eyes holding a menacing glint. “We’ll be in and out of here. But while we _are_ here,” He pointed a finger at Izuku’s chest, enunciating every word. “ _Stay. Fucking. Close._ You understand?” 

Izuku bit his lip to keep from saying something back. He nodded curtly, wanting to stay civil. When they got back to Cairo and didn’t have a horde of horse riding warriors after them, perhaps he could regain a little independence. 

Despite Izuku’s affirmation, Bakugou’s eyes narrowed in distrust. If there was one thing this whole trip had proven, it was that Izuku didn’t follow any of his instructions, instead opting to do whatever the fuck he wanted. 

Feeling self conscious, Izuku sidestepped around Bakugou, making his way to the stallion’s head to escape the soldier’s scrutinous glare.

For having trekked so many miles in the scorching heat, the animal looked to be in decent condition, energetic enough to bob its head in excitement as Izuku drew closer, its broad head nudging forward as far as the reins would allow.

“So now you like me.” Izuku chastised softly, a smile breaking across his face. He palmed the creature’s velvet nose as he approached, rubbing a steady hand over its cheek in affection. He received a playful nudge in response. He stroked its forelock absently, casting an expression of fresh worry over to Bakugou, who was unlacing the saddle.

“Kirishima?” Izuku asked, his tone betraying his rising concern. He’d slept all through the day, hadn’t checked the profiles of the four shadows that had been behind him. 

With a low grunt, Bakugou pulled the saddle off, letting it drop to the sand with a solid thump. “Don’t worry, your idiot brother made it.” He pulled the saddle blanket off next, mumbling under his breath, “By some fucking luck.” 

At that, Izuku’s heart soared, like a big weight had been lifted off of him. “Is he here now?” He was suddenly scanning the city crowd, trying to spot the familiar ball of red, spiky hair. “Was Ocha with him?” He started towards the tents, the stallion nickering softly after him. He managed to poke his head past the tarps before an angry voice went off behind him.

“The hell did I just say?” Bakugou seethed. 

“I’m just looking.” Izuku said airily, craning his neck into the marketplace. A few yards was a reasonable distance, honestly. He didn’t see anyone familiar in the crowd, most of the travelers being Bedouin, their faces sun beaten and grooved with laugh lines. He spotted a few camels without riders, and he wondered if one of them had carried his brother.

“He’s a few minutes behind us, so he likely hasn’t reached the outpost yet.” Bakugou continued behind him, his tone laced with warning. “So don’t wander.”

Izuku let out a small breath of air. Not here yet. He’d have to keep an eye out.

A shadow cast over him, and Izuku looked up to see Bakugou hovering over him, the stallion’s reins in hand. The horse nudged at his shoulder, and he started to feel a little guilty. 

“Do we have to trade him?” He asked, put out by the prospect. Izuku ran his hand down the creature’s neck, his eyes running down its back and hindlegs. “Some food, water, and a good rubdown and I think he could keep going.” He speculated.

“You know horses?”

“A little.” Izuku admitted. “I just think it’d be a shame to part with him.”

“Don’t get attached.” Bakugou warned. “As soon as we reach Cairo, we’re ditching it.”

That comment made Izuku perk up, and he smiled from around the stallion’s neck. “So that means we’re keeping him until Cairo?”

Bakugou’s face twisted slightly as he contemplated. The better part of him was saying to ditch the horse while they could and swap it for something with better endurance, but… The way that the freckled scholar was smiling up at him, his green eyes almost pleading, begging to keep the damn thing… It was fizzing out his better judgement.

With a low curse, Bakugou pinched the bridge of his nose. It was a pretty powerful stallion, all things considered. The brat was right in that it could keep going, so why the fuck not? “Fuck it.” Bakugou answered, his gaze turning serious as Izuku’s smile broadened. He leveled a pointed finger. “But I’m not fucking kidding about getting rid of it when we hit the city. We can’t leave an easy trail for them to follow.”

“That’s fair.” Izuku grinned. He followed the horse by its neck as Bakugou led it across the marketplace, settling it in front of a worn sandstone trough filled with gritty water. Camels were lined on either side, watching the hooved intruder with wary interest. The stallion didn’t seem to mind at all, gratefully dipping its head into the warmed liquid, drinking deeply.

Izuku pet its neck absently as he heard Bakugou engage in conversation with one of the outposters, exchanging a few short phrases with the man before handing him a few coins. It was entirely in Arabic, and Izuku found himself wandering around the back of the horse to meet him on the other side.

He waited for the outposter to head back to tend to the camels. “Can you teach me?” He asked as Bakugou turned back towards him.

“Teach you what?”

“Arabic.”

Bakugou scoffed, a sneer lifting his face as he tied off the stallion to the trough post. Izuku followed close behind as he continued towards the trading stalls, letting the question hang in the air between them. After a long minute the soldier huffed and turned his head to face him.

“Why the hell would I teach you Arabic?” Bakugou finally asked. He had to speak up slightly, the ambient noise of bargaining traders becoming louder as they drifted towards the tented stalls.

Izuku hummed as they weaved through the bustling crowd, taking care to stay by Bakugou’s shoulder. Whether it was the man’s intimidating stature or expression, people instinctively parted to let him through as they passed. “It’s become increasingly apparent that it’s a skill I need to have. Plus, who better to teach me than someone who grew up speaking it?”

“Here’s what I don’t fucking get.” Bakugou started, “You’ve studied Egypt all your fucking life, moved all the way from London to be here, and yet you never once thought to learn the native language?”

“A… Serious lack of foresight on my part.” Izuku admitted, scratching his cheek in mild embarrassment. There was no disputing how idiotic it sounded when you put it that way. “But it was _ancient_ Egypt that fascinated me. I never really put much thought into its modern day adaptations.”

Another disbelieving scoff came from Bakugou as he exchanged some coins for canteens with a cross legged, smiling Bedouin trader, who was looking between them curiously. When they had stepped out of the trader’s eyesight, Bakugou let out a small curse. “There’s no helping it, we’re attracting attention. They’re going to know we were here.”

“We would blend in better if we could converse in Arabic.” Izuku pointed out, trying not to smile when Bakugou shot him a glare.

For the next several minutes, they continued through the rest of the trading stalls in relative quiet, occasionally stopping to pick up supplies and other necessary items. Doing his best not to get distracted in the market like he usually did, Izuku found himself impressed with the efficiency in which Bakugou traded, and before he knew it they were almost completely done. 

It brought a small grin to his face. Despite the mans harsh, gruff nature, it was clear that he was incredibly proficient and organized in what he was focusing on, and Izuku couldn’t help but admire him for it.

Deeper in, he found his gaze wandering across the crowd, eyes scanning for the familiar face of his brother. It had been at least fifteen minutes, and he had to have reached the outpost by now. He would likely be looking for him as well. 

His attention waning slightly at the thought, he didn’t notice the errant basket of spices until it was too late, tripping and gracelessly scrambling to regain his balance. Once a clutz, always a clutz, no matter where he was. After a slew of apologies to the understanding shopkeeper, he turned his attention back to Bakugou. 

Except he was no longer in sight.

“Oh, gods help me.” Izuku muttered under his breath. He twisted his neck in every direction, but the soldier was nowhere to be seen. He resisted the urge to palm his face, instead focusing on following the flow of the crowd, hopeful to catch up to the soldier before he noticed he was missing. 

After a few tense moments, he finally caught sight of the wild patch of blonde hair, the man’s back turned to him. 

A small wave of relief went through his chest. It didn’t look like Bakugou had noticed he had lagged behind. “Spared a lecture.” Izuku muttered happily to himself. 

As he was about to walk over, a firm hand fisted around his upper arm, and he was twisted in the opposite direction, going face to face with a short, seedy individual hunched over by one of the tents. 

Izuku startled, automatically grabbing the man’s wrist in confusion. He looked to be older, his face worn and covered with a map of crossed scars, his eyes deep set and covered with a grey film. His smile was crooked and wide, and Izuku instinctively leaned back when the man spoke, harsh and clipped.

“ _Antazar. 'Ana 'uerifik._ ” The man rasped, his aged eyes narrowing. His clothes were too plain to be Bedouin, and Izuku’s heart beat a little faster. “ _lm takun alsahabat alsuwda' baedik?_ ”

He didn’t understand. Shaking his head quickly, Izuku’s eyes widened. 

With long, boned fingers, the old man produced a long, thin scrap of paper, scrawled with Arabic lettering. “ _La tukadhib, ‘inh ant!_ ” 

Alarm rapidly raising, Izuku continued to shake his head. He had no idea what he was saying, but the grip around his arm was harsh and unyielding.

A high screech sounded from behind the man, and Izuku’s eyes snapped up to see a single white and black speckled hawk roosted on one of the tent posts. It had leather cuffs around each of its ankles, and Izuku paled in realization. 

Though they were several leagues behind them, it was entirely possible the horsemen could have sent word by hawk. There was no other way to explain the warped, triumphant grin on the old man’s face. _Shit!_

Izuku pulled his arm back, but the man’s grip only tightened, his sleeve falling back slightly to reveal similar cross hatched scars all down his arm. Reeling, Izuku suddenly recognized them as talon marks, and his mind raced. Was this man the hawk master of the outpost? If so, had he managed to tell anyone else about them? Nobody had stopped them thus far.

“Katsuki!” Izuku called aloud, raising his voice to carry just above the crowd. He tried to keep the panic out of his tone, not wanting to cause a scene.

A voice in the back of his head told him to fight back, but a contradicting view told him that hitting an elderly man was _wrong_ , no matter how incredibly strong their grip was-

Izuku barely registered the passing shadow behind him, an unknown arm streaking across his vision before he could react. A millisecond later, the hawk master’s face snapped to the side with a resounding crack.

Mouth dropping in shock, he was whirled around, Bakugou’s livid face filling his view. 

The soldier looked ready to flat out brawl, his chest flexed, mouth curled in a vicious snarl, his eyes sharp and flinty. He withdrew his fist, the muscles clenched so hard that the knuckles were white. 

Izuku gripped his shirt on reflex, certain he would try and kick the old man while he was still down. “By gods, you didn’t have to _knock him out!_ ” He shrieked, holding him back. Bakugou hadn’t even _hesitated_ , had flat out decked a man potentially three times his age- 

His eyes shot back down to the hawk master, who was groaning in the sand, his eyes catching on the long slip of paper still clutched between his long, spindly fingers. 

Managing to pull his arm free of Bakugou’s hold, Izuku reached down and quickly plucked the line of paper from his fingers, looping a hand around Bakugou’s arm as he straightened. It took all of his strength, but he managed to pull the seething soldier away, leading them away from the rapidly gathering crowd.

Once safely behind a row of tents, Izuku unleashed the full fury of his withheld horror. “Is that how you sort every problem out, with violence?” He hissed, doing his best to keep his voice down, looking over his shoulder to make sure they hadn’t been followed.

“He put his hands on you, I put my hands on him. Period.” Bakugou spat. 

“But an _old man?_ ” Izuku argued.

“Why the hell do I care how old he is?” His eyes flicked down to the paper in Izuku’s hands, and he grabbed it, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the contents.

“What does it-”

After a few moments, he cursed. “It’s offering a reward for your safe capture.” He said plainly. Without hesitation, he ripped the paper to shreds, letting them fall to the ground before kicking sand over the pieces. “It has your exact description.”

“That man-” Izuku said quickly, “I think he was the hawk master. I’m not sure if he had managed to spread word of us-”

“If he hasn’t yet, he will now.” 

Izuku’s face deadpanned. “When he regains _consciousness_ , perhaps...”

Ignoring that, Bakugou leaned across and whipped down a strip of black cloth hanging from one of the tent lines. Before Izuku could protest, Bakugou threw it over his head, covering his hair and part of his face, knotting it below his chin. 

“Don’t draw attention to yourself.” Bakugou grit. Before Izuku could nod, he was whisked out of their hiding spot, power walking back towards where their horse was hitched. People naturally moved to make way for them as they sped by, and Izuku turned his head to see that there was still a small crowd buzzing over where the hawk master was still orienting himself. 

The man’s scarred hand clutched the side of his reddened face, a small line of blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. 

When the elder’s eyes met with Izuku’s fleeing form, his mouth twisted angrily, and he pointed one of his long fingers in his direction. They were too far off for Izuku to hear what he started to shout, but he could probably guess.

“We can’t leave without letting Kirishima know.” Izuku thought aloud. They quickly reached the stallion, and it looked like it had been swiftly but thoroughly brushed down, its coat sleek and glossy. 

Bakugou was already throwing the blanket and saddle on, his hands moving with incredible speed on the buckles. “They’re looking for you, not him.” He started tossing their bags over, tying them into place.

Izuku bit his lip, his eyes scanning for absolutely any sign of his brother. If they left now, Kirishima wouldn’t know to head off as well, and likely wouldn’t be able to navigate the desert by himself, potentially leaving him stranded here. That and if the horsemen caught up with the camp, they would undoubtedly recognize him, making their narrow escape pointless-

“Quit mumbling.” Bakugou snapped, tying the last of the bags with a sharp pull.

“That you, Bakugou?” A familiar voice called aloud.

Spinning, Izuku’s heart leapt when he saw the familiar face of his brother, towing a large camel behind him. On either side of his shoulder were Neito and Antonin, who were both mounted, their faces scratched and scalded with sunburn from the days travel.

“Kirishima!” Izuku cried out. Before he knew it he was running towards him, throwing both arms across him in joy. 

The weight of him nearly threw Kirishima off balance, and he laughed as he struggled to keep his footing. “Relieved to see you’re not hurt, Izuku. You gave me quite the scare last night.” He looked up to see Bakugou scowling from the water trough, leading the black stallion towards them. “I thought I recognized your angry voice.” Kirishima teased.

“We’re on the clock.” Bakugou said, jutting his chin towards the trading stalls. “They’ve already sent word by hawk.”

Neito cursed from atop his camel, angrily wiping the beading sweat from his burnt face. “Should’ve fucking guessed.”

The smile on Kirishima’s face wavered as his tone turned serious. “We’ve already watered the camels.” He supplied, “We can leave now.”

At those words, Izuku stepped back, searching his brother’s face. “Is it just you three?” He asked, his voice tense. “Iida, Walter…” His voice broke a little, “Ocha?”

The last of Kirishima’s smile vanished, replaced with guilt. He shook his head slowly. “We didn’t have time to get them.” He admitted, his tone filled with remorse. “I’m sorry. They still have them. Ochako too.”

The bottom dropped out of Izuku’s stomach, the breath leaving his body. They had Ochako. A race of denial went through his head before it was rapidly replaced with wild determination. Maybe they could send a hawk back to the horsemen, negotiate a trade. If they didn’t do anything he may never see her again, they had to act fast. Did they even know how to take care of a cat? They could trade the leader’s horse for Ochako-

A strong hand gripped his upper arm, and he looked up to see Bakugou’s severe expression. 

“We’re leaving.” Bakugou said firmly, the words nothing short of a command.

Reeling, Izuku couldn’t manage to nod, much less articulate words, and found himself just staring mutely up at the blonde, his head a mess of jumbled thoughts. Leave? Wait, no, they couldn’t just leave without doing anything-

“I have the largest camel, he can ride with me.” Neito chimed in, watching them. 

Bakugou looked up to see the broad, sardonic smile that was split across the blonde American’s face. “I don’t fucking think so.” He clipped back. Unbidden, detached images of Izuku falling asleep on Neito lit a fire in his chest, and his lip started to curl in a snarl. 

“That horse would have a much better time of it with one rider.” Neito pressed, “And I’d reckon Yagi’s son is in dire need of better company.” He peered down at Izuku before drawing his eyes back up at Bakugou. “That or a change of view.” He added with a sly smile.

Izuku felt the hand clasped around his arm stiffen, tightening almost to the point of pain. He was barely listening to the conversation, his mind still absent. What were they getting upset about?

“I can’t think of anyone who would willingly share company with you, Neito.” Kirishima joked, trying to break the tension. He glanced warily between Bakugou’s defensive stance and the relentless glint in Neito’s eyes. “Ultimately,” He continued, “It’s your decision, Izuku. What do you think?”

What did he think? His thoughts weren’t on who to ride with, they were on how to get Ochako and the others back. Did the matter of riding arrangements really compare? But in the end… The flinty spark in Bakugou’s eyes extinguished any hope of arguing his point. There wasn’t anything he would be able to do here. They needed to get to Cairo. Professor Aizawa would be able to help them from there, and his father... His father might have answers too.

Angrily wiping his cheeks, Izuku looked between the two of them. Kirishima’s camel was too young to carry them both, which eliminated the neutral answer. But as much as he was embarrassed to be back to chest with Bakugou again, the thought of riding that way with the blonde American was even worse.

“Thank you for the offer, Mr. Monoma,” He said curtly, “But our current seating arrangements will suffice.”

The hold on his upper arm loosened slightly. 

“Then lets fucking move.” Bakugou said. The snarl on his face had been replaced with a faint smirk that disappeared as quickly as it came.

"To Cairo." _For answers._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's ready for season 3 tho
> 
> I leave you with this gem: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uatBo0nkorI


	16. Cairo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 100% breathable Egyptian cotton
> 
> *eyebrow waggle*
> 
> \---- UPDATE
> 
> Checking in for an update? (EDIT: 5/2/2018)
> 
> **I feel bad not updating in a while. School sucker punched me so I haven't had much time to write. I will see this to its conclusion, though, that I can promise. My muse is still in considerably good health, so I'm sure I'll have the next parts out soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friends are too scared to read this fic because it is quite literally the length of a book
> 
> I've veered wildly from the movie at this point, and I've pretty much accepted it
> 
>  
> 
> -

The whole ride to Cairo, Izuku sat straight awake, not wanting to repeat his earlier mishap. Despite his decision to ride with Bakugou, he loathed every second of their trek. If he had complained about saddle sores in the beginning, it was nothing compared to the aches he had now. Each step sent another dull throb of pain up his spine, and he dreaded each move.

Every now and again they would look behind them, eyes scanning the horizon for the telltale sign that they were being followed. They hadn’t noticed anything yet, but that didn’t mean much in the ever shifting sands. 

Even when they reached the Nile, Bakugou refused to stop for much more than a quick watering of the animals, continuing to drive them forward. It was far more brutal than their ride to Hamunaptra, and the sun was a constant reminder of it.

Hours later, when the pyramids of Giza started to slowly come into view in the horizon, a deep breath of air swept out of Izuku. He’d never thought he would be so happy to see them again, three faint shapes in the far horizon. 

By the time they were just a hundred meters from the city, Izuku was already fidgeting in the saddle, scribbling furiously in his journal pages, eager to stretch his sore legs. Locals who were straggled outside the outer city looked at them curiously as they passed, their weathered eyes noting their sand washed clothes and haggard postures. 

Izuku could tell that even Bakugou was exhausted, each tilt of the saddle having him lean a little heavier than he had before. Izuku was alarmed to realize he couldn’t remember when the last time the soldier had slept, and when they finally dismounted, the man slid to the ground with a heavy thump.

Despite his visible fatigue, Bakugou’s eyes were alert, though his expression was undeniably grouchy. Izuku accepted his hand wordlessly as he helped him off the saddle, letting a thankful sigh pass his lips when his feet hit the ground, tucking his journal back in his waistband. 

“I’m never getting on one of these filthy things ever again.” Neito spat, dismounting with an angry hiss. His camel grumbled in response, and the blonde American threw the reins aside in distaste. 

“Looks like your good humor has finally faded.” Kirishima smiled, the motion strained. Izuku could see the irrefutable exhaustion weighing down his brother’s shoulders, even though he still managed to grin. 

“Shut up.” Neito snapped. “I’ve half a mind just to leave this thing here. Whoever wants it can just fucking take it.”

At that, Antonin jumped off his own camel, edging around the animal’s rugged neck to face him. “We can’t do that.” There was a sharpness to his words that had Izuku’s head perking up.

Neito swiveled to face Antonin, his eyes narrowed and tinted red from the sun. “Why the hell not? We don’t fucking need them anymore- The whole camp is _gone_ , all of the valuables are _gone_ , all of the money we pooled into this trip is _gone-_ ” 

Antonin grabbed the small cloak tied around his head, ripping it off and throwing it to the ground with an angry smack. “Walter is still _out there-_ ”

“Who fucking cares about _Walter?_ ” Neito cut. After a moment of thought, he held up a steadying finger, his tone turning crisp. “Don’t you dare say you give a shit, not now, not after _everything-_ ”

“Please-!” Izuku interjected, stepping forward. The two Americans looked ready to fist fight, and he held up his hands in a show of peace. He looked between them both. “We’re all tired, and undeniably shaken, but let’s not take that out on each other. We’re going to find a way to get everyone back.” He looked pointedly at Antonin, ignoring the way Bakugou had straightened threateningly behind him, “Walter included.”

Neito let out a shaky laugh under Izuku’s measured gaze, pulling his shoulders back and running a sober hand through his dusted blonde hair. “Right.”

Antonin was less in control, the anger still prevalent in his stance, noticeable in each step as he stormed back to his camel, angrily loosening the packs. Kirishima whistled quietly, his brows raising.

With that, Izuku turned back towards Bakugou, examining the city past his shoulder. The Nile port was a few hundred meters from where they were now, the small sand-cut buildings on either side of them a mixture of housing and warehouses. Wood crates, both empty and filled, lined either side of the walkway, and strings of drying clothes hung across the rooves like banners. It was nearing sunset by now, the shadows growing longer and darker by the minute.

“It’s late, but I think we can get to the main Cairo market before the stalls close.” Izuku said quietly, thinking aloud. “I need to get to the museum, too. I may still be able to catch the Professor in his office. If not I’ll have to catch a ride down to the next district to get him at home, that or at the small bazaar by the cafe-”

“We’ll deal with that shit tomorrow.” Bakugou broke in, leading the stallion down the alleyway. Izuku had to step quickly to keep up, mouth open to protest, when he was cut off yet again. “You’re talking about the official Cairo museum, right? That’s halfway across the city. By the time we reach it, or anywhere else, it’ll be night.” Bakugou turned and gave him a searching look, his brows knitting together. “And you know better than to walk around Cairo at night, don’t you?”

“What; because of bandits, muggers?”

The soldier’s eyes narrowed.

“That’s what I have you for.” Izuku said breezily, smiling weakly even as his voice lilted in surrender. He was right, it was dangerous to traverse the city in the dark, and even Aizawa had explicitly warned him against it. But despite that… He cast another glance towards Bakugou. Watched how every minute or so his eyes would flick back at him, as if checking to make sure he was still there. 

A strange sense of security blanketed over him. If he had Bakugou with him, he thought, he’d probably feel safe walking through every dark alleyway in Cairo. Muggers, bandits, or otherwise. 

Even so, there would be no convincing the soldier to come with him, so the point was moot. Besides, he consoled himself, the Professor would be in the museum tomorrow, like he always was. 

If only their lives weren’t the only ones at stake.

“I’m thinking, Izuku, we could use our father’s building for the night.” Kirishima eventually chimed in from behind them. “It’s closer to the market than either one of our places, and wouldn’t be the first place they’d look, besides.”

The notion made Izuku bite his lip. “I suppose it makes sense, but…”

“But what?” Bakugou asked, his brows drawing together. 

Izuku faltered. “Well, it’s just-”

“It’s an affront to his independent nature.” Kirishima laughed. “He has a quenchless thirst to do everything on his own, without relying on our father’s influence.”

“If I wanted everyone to know about my personal life, Kirishima, “ Izuku said, his cheeks going red, “I’d write a biography.”

Grinning and wholly undeterred, Kirishima turned his head towards Neito and Antonin. “You guys going to bunk with us, too? Plenty of room.”

The air between the Americans had become glacial, and a beat passed before Neito finally responded. “Yes, I think that would be nice.” His eyes focused in on Izuku as he said it, and he smoothed back his straight blonde hair as best as it would allow. “Better to stay as a group.” He smiled as far as his sunburn would allow, sticking his hands back in his pockets.

From behind, Antonin led both of their camels, his face and jaw hardening.

“Well,” Izuku sighed in defeat, “I guess that settles it, then.” His eyes went round when he saw that Bakugou’s expression had even further soured, a scowl twisting the soldier’s mouth. “What, what is it?”

“ _Nothing._ ” He spat. 

Izuku’s confusion only grew when he saw the knowing smile on his brother’s face.The rest of their walk was met with mixed silence, the tension between all parties remarkably obscure and troubling. He noted that Bakugou started to walk even closer to him, their arms nearly brushing.

When they reached the Cairo marketplace, the sun was almost completely under the horizon, the city bathed in vivid oranges and pinks, the shadows long and drifting. The shade felt good, and despite the palpable strain between their makeshift group, Izuku felt a sense of calm come over him as he watched the sunset.

This time around, he was careful to stay close to Bakugou as they navigated through the market, sticking towards the center of the walkway and away from the tent corners and alleyways. While he wasn’t particularly fearful, he wanted to keep incidents at a minimum, aware that a big enough scene would send Bakugou straight back to the city prison.

Oh.

“We’ll need to contact Cairo prison.” Izuku said suddenly, catching Bakugou by the arm as he walked. “To let them know what happened to their head warden.”

“Trust me,” The man scoffed, “They don’t fucking care.”

“It’s what’s appropriate.” Izuku insisted, “They deserve to be notified, at the very least-”

Bakugou came to a sudden stop, tugging Izuku to a standstill alongside him. 

Curious, Izuku peered around his torso to see a tall, thin trader sitting on top of a small rock post, a thatch covered pen behind him. It held a lieu of animals, goats, chickens, and even a pair of camels, standing idly in the shadows of the stall. 

“I don’t care what’s appropriate. I’m not taking you back there.” Bakugou continued, with an air of finality.

That statement had Izuku’s back straightening. It seemed to be a common deflection, for the soldier to cite that he simply _would not take him there_ as a valid reason for why something wouldn’t be done. 

He didn’t get to voice that thought, as Bakugou had already engaged in a short, clippy conversation with the trader. It occurred to him that this is where they would be parting with their stolen black stallion.

Despite the fact that he knew why they were doing it, Izuku’s heart still fell while Bakugou bargained with the thin, scraggly trader. Feeling a little torn, he pet the stallion’s battered, dingy shoulder as he waited, absently rubbing off the garnered dirt that had accumulated on their day’s journey.

They had never given it a name, though it probably already had one from its previous owner. Regardless, it bugged him. His brother came up from behind, eyeing them both with sympathy. “We’ll go ahead of you, Izuku.” Kirishima said, patting him on the shoulder. “We’re all about ready to collapse.”

“We’ll be right behind you.” Izuku promised, giving him a weak smile. By the time that they had disappeared into the crowd, camels and all, Bakugou was already handing over the stallion’s reins for a small stack of coins.

“So little?” Izuku quietly, just for Bakugou to hear. He eyed the small handoff with disapproval.

“The price doesn’t matter, we just need to get rid of it.”

Nodding mutely, Izuku walked over to the front of the stallion, holding his palm out as the horse nickered quietly, proffering its velveteen nose into his hand. Stroking its forelock, Izuku turned his gaze back to Bakugou. “Can you tell the man to take good care of him?”

Bakugou’s brows drew together. “Does it seriously matter?”

“Yes.”

With an expression that clearly portrayed just how ridiculous he thought it was, Bakugou addressed the thin trader brusquely, nodding his chin at Izuku. “ _Hu yaqulu, altaeamul maeaha bishakl jayid._ ”

With a crooked, joyful smile, the trader turned to Izuku and bowed his head agreeably, tapping the reins in his hands. “ _Ajealh saeidaan, nem fielaan_.”

The general meaning was clear, and Izuku didn’t need a translation. As silly as it was, the assurance made him feel better. Nodding his head in return, his tone was sincere as he recited the one phrase he knew well. “ _Shukraan._ ” 

With a heavy heart, he gave the black stallion a few more long strokes before pulling away, letting the trader turn its head towards the pen. The stallion was reluctant to go, its ears pinning back as it lifted its head in disagreement, its round black eyes settling on Izuku before dancing its rear to the side, nostrils flaring. 

“Which way to this building?” Bakugou said, his rough voice drawing Izuku’s attention away.

“Ah, several blocks north of here, over by the Abdeen Palace.” He answered automatically, his eyes still on the stallion. It appeared to be _very_ reluctant to go, nearly trampling a few stray chickens as it pranced, fighting the trader’s hold.

Looking between the stallion and Izuku, Bakugou placed a guiding hand on the scholar’s arm, pulling him away and back into the crowd. “I told you not to get attached.”

“It’s hard not to, when you consider that horse carried us halfway across Egypt.” Izuku defended, hearing the stallion whinny after them. It broke his heart to think that they were simply abandoning it. “The poor thing.”

“Poor nothing.” Bakugou scoffed, leading them through the dwindling crowd. “It’ll be fine.” Around them, people were already packing up their wares, closing the waywards bags of spices and rolling up their woven carpets. 

Izuku followed the soldier’s lead, trusting the man’s judgement enough that he let his eyes wander across the market as they usually did. The hand around his upper arm was considerably more gentle than it had been earlier in the day, or for the whole journey, if he thought about it.

“You seem less tense.” 

Bakugou’s gaze drifted back towards him, his expression neutral. “Tense?”

Izuku looked pointedly at his grip, fighting a smile. “You’re usually a lot rougher.”

The hand holding him immediately let go, and Bakugou huffed as he turned his eyes forward again. “It’ll be a lot harder for them to track us in Cairo.” He dismissed sharply. A beat passed, and his nose bunched up slightly in distaste. “And not having that cocky ass American sniffing around helps too.”

“Neito?”

“Whatever his name is.”

Humming in response, Izuku studied his face. “Is there anybody that you actually _do_ tolerate?”

“No.” 

“And that includes me?” He lifted a brow, unable to help the small grin that started to twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Bakugou looked down, his gruffness momentarily derailed by the soft green eyes staring up at him; the small, teasing smile playing out on Izuku’s face. The familiar heat in his stomach reignited, and he was gripped with the sudden desire to pull the scholar down one of the side alleyways, to press him up one of the walls and-

Bakugou ran a rough, aggravated hand through his hair, refusing to finish that thought. “ _Especially_ you.”

That elicited a small chuckle from Izuku. “I guess you’ll be leaving Cairo when all of this is over and done with, if that’s the case?” He meant the words as a joke, but they brought an inexplicable pang of pain with them. It hit him that he really didn’t want Bakugou to leave. His smile wobbled.

“I’ll go wherever I need to.” Bakugou huffed. 

Not trusting his words, Izuku hummed, nodding his head. He turned his attention back on the bordering stalls, willing his attention to focus on something else other than the disappointed twist in his gut.

It was easy to get distracted. It this part of modern Egypt that Izuku was slowly starting to fall in love with. Several shopkeepers had lit lanterns in their closed tents, their belongings lined up precariously on either side to make room for small cup sets. Softer, less exuberant sounds of amiable laughter and idle chatter hushed into an enjoyable undertone beneath the otherwise loud and fast paced market as both friends and family discussed simple matters over their drinks. 

When they finally cleared the market, it grew considerably more quiet, the glow of lanterns becoming beacons of wayward light in the dimming sunset. Each step he took was sore, and his body was screaming for somewhere soft to rest, the only relief the soft breeze that would occasionally drift up from the Nile, soothing his chafed skin.

“The first thing I’m going to do when we get there is shower.” Izuku stated, drawing back his shirt sleeves. His skin was significantly more tan than before, although the thin fabric had thankfully shielded him from the worst of the sunburn. Nevertheless, he had sand on every inch of him, and his mind focused in on the surely amazing feeling of washing it all off.

“Shower?” Bakugou repeated.

“Yes, shower.” Izuku sighed, trying to swipe some of the dust off of him, “If I pass out during it, so be it, but I refuse to do anything else until it’s done.”

“What kind of ritzy place is this, that you have something as excess as a shower?”

“It’s my father’s place.” Izuku corrected, a slight flush heating his cheeks. “I admit it’s a little extra, but as long as it’s there, I’ll take advantage of it.”

Bakugou snorted. “Why not bathe like a normal person?”

“Because at the moment, were I to sit down in a tub, I’d likely drown.” Izuku said blandly. The statement earned him a low snort, and the usual scowl on Bakugou’s face twisted upwards to show a small flash of teeth. The tiny reaction brought a flutter to Izuku’s stomach. He liked seeing Bakugou smile, as rare as it usually was, and he wished he’d do it more often.

There was another few minutes of silence as they continued to walk, eventually reaching the main road. The farther they went, the more wide the streets got, the buildings gaining in intricacy and expensive architecture. The roads were practically empty by now, the sun gone and replaced by its white counterpart, the sky reduced to a darkening blue. Stars had already started to drizzle across the sky, and Izuku was forced to admit that heading to the museum had indeed been out of the question.

Izuku let out a heavy, relieved sigh. “Ah, I never thought I’d be so happy to see this place.” 

Grinning, he pointed to a tall, sharp looking building nestled between one of the corners of the block. The walls were made of cream, sand washed stone, each corner beholden with columns and Egyptian styled carvings. The lower windows were already lit, the inner curtains drawn in, obscuring the interior. His smile fell when he noticed the side.

“Oh Gods no, absolutely not.” Izuku shot.

Their three camels were tied out just outside the main fencepost, lingering halfway in the sidewalk. Haphazardly thrown in front of them was an expensive hand carved mahogany chest, the contents no doubt spilled out to be replaced with water in a makeshift trough. 

“Inventive.” Bakugou commented.

Izuku palmed his face, not sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. “Hand carved. From India.” He approached the three camels, peering over to see that the chest had indeed been filled with water, the contents already soiled with camel spit and green backwash. “Lovely.”

Bakugou was already at the door, turning the handle. “You can get angry at him inside. Hurry up.”

Izuku sighed, giving the chest one last dismal frown before he followed, clicking the front door shut behind him. As much as he did want to chew his brother out, he was far too tired.

Normally he would have went straight upstairs without second thought, but this time he lingered, eyeing the door locks. After a moments consideration, he locked and deadbolted it, before grabbing one of the entryway’s thin sidetables and skirting it to the front of the door, barricading it.

With a satisfied nod, Izuku wiped his hands together, pausing when he saw the look on Bakugou’s face. “What?”

Mouth twitching, Bakugou looked at the sidetable, gently nudging it with the toe of his boot. It shifted easily, screeching slightly as it moved. “Planning to hold back the whole Egyptian army with this thing?”

“If it’s truly so ridiculous, you can move it back.” Izuku defended, peering down the hallway. There were sounds of stiff laughter from down the main rooms, and he recognized one of them as his brother. “It looks like everyone else is in the parlor.” Turning to the stairs, he gripped the railing as he ascended. “No doubt playing poker.” He muttered, disbelieving. 

Halfway across the whole country, nearly kidnapped by mounted warriors, almost murdered by a living mummy, and damn near eaten alive by scarabs and the lot of them were playing poker.

He immediately tried to quash down the feelings of contempt, knowing that his brother was likely just as worried about Ochako and the others as he was. Everyone needed a way to unwind, and this was just likely their way of doing so. He would likely be reviewing his accumulated notes in contrast.

Perking up at the thought, Izuku made his way to the main bedroom on the third floor, knowing his brother would have left it for him. 

He noted that Bakugou was drifting beside him up the stairs, and on the third floor he opened up the room doors as he passed them. “It’s just us here, so you can have any room you like. Despite the fact that we hardly come here, everything is maintained, so-”

“Who knows about this place?”

Pausing, Izuku considered it. “My mother and father, of course, and Professor Aizawa. A few other scholars from Cairo, and undoubtedly some old friends of my father. That and the few people who come weekly to keep it up and running.”

The list was short, all things considered. It must have satisfied Bakugou, because he turned into one of the rooms with a low huff, accompanied with the sound of the saddlebags dropping to the floor. 

Continuing to his own room, Izuku switched the oil lantern on with a small sigh as he shut the door behind him, his eyes scanning the interior. 

It was almost exactly how he’d left it, the bureau contents practically untouched aside from frequent dusting, the mirror bordered with soft yellow clouds as an indicator of its age. The chiffon curtains on the large room windows were drawn to let in the light during the day, the woven rug colors slightly washed from the constant sun. 

After the past several months in his own apartment in a far less extravagant part of Cairo, the extra large bed and crown molding seemed a little silly, and he ran a hand through his hair as he skirted the room’s long sitting couch as he made his way to the closet. There were just a handful of shirts and even fewer slacks, but they’d hopefully suffice until he could go back to his own apartment and retrieve what was left of his own wardrobe. 

Muscles aching, Izuku untied his belt, setting his journal to the side. With some effort he managed to pull his shirt up over his head, marveling at how well the fabric had held up despite its abuse. 

The shirt was followed with a decent amount of sand, and he started to swipe the remaining grit from his bare chest. The shower was sounding better and better by the second, but he still took a moment to breathe, his head dipping back to rest on the wall as his eyes closed, reveling in the foreign sense of normalcy.

It felt quiet, absurdly so. The absence of Ochako added to the empty feeling, and it slowly expanded, swelling and drowning out all other thought until he thought he couldn’t take it anymore.

In quick, rapid movements, Izuku undressed the rest of the way, closing the bathroom door with a bit more force than necessary. He let out a deep breath of air the moment the hot water started to hit against his back, erasing every last trace of sand and dirt. 

The process took a lot longer than he thought it would, and by the time he had toweled off, sleep was already pulling at his eyes, threatening to make him tip over. 

He chanced a quick glance in the mirror as he pulled on his nightclothes, pausing as he started to button the shirt. His heart stuttered a little at the familiar face staring back at him. A near perfect image of the painting in Hamunaptra, the pharaoh Deku.

Questions started to bubble through the empty feeling in his chest, and he welcomed the distraction. He needed to go through his journal. That singular thought carried him out of the bathroom, and he grabbed the journal from the nightstand as he passed, intending to read as he lay in bed.

The second he settled in the bedsheets, however, his head fogged over, immediately pulling him under. He had only skimmed a few sentences before giving up, barely having enough energy to reach over and flip the oil lantern off, his arm feeling like weighted lead. 

As his consciousness dribbled, he extended his arm to the other side of the bed, his hand tracing the empty spot in the pillow where Ochako would usually curl. 

In the dark of the night, he dreamed.

_It was hot. So very, very hot._

_Izuku could barely see through the smoke. Everything was covered in fire. Horrible, cursed flames that crawled through stone and steel, embers that bit through his clothes and burned his skin._

_He could hear screaming in the distance through the lightning crackle of the blaze; screams that chilled his blood and pierced his heart. Nameless shadows flitted across the edges of his vision, shaded silhouettes that stumbled and shot across the shattered marble floors._

_From either side of him, columns towered, bannered and wrung with fire that spewed from the rock itself. Carved hieroglyphs and etched figures on the stone seemed to writhe in pain._

_Gods, he felt small. So very, very small._

_Ahead of him, through the wicked snap of flames, an even darker silhouette rose. It seemed to claw through the ashes, the smoke whipping around its encroaching, colossal figure._

_The ashes cracked and fell from its mammoth form, revealing two blood red eyes that paralyzed him. He recognized those eyes. Murderous. Vengeful. It mauled the tile as it rose to its feet, fire surging through its veins in steamed hisses._

_Pure, unfiltered terror._

_Izuku screamed._

_As though drawn by the sound, the monster lurched towards him, its long, thick arm reaching for him with drawn, hot fingers. An inhuman sound rumbled through its throat, thick and harsh as it lumbered closer._

_Breathing heavily, Izuku kicked backwards, desperately trying to get out of reach. His legs were too heavy. Very, very heavy. He skittered backwards, fighting to make his legs work, to move, to do something, anything._

_The fire seemed to increase in intensity, the smoke becoming so thick he could barely breathe, his eyes burned as the smog bit them. Tears pricked his eyes, trailing down his ashen cheeks, cutting clean lines._

_He felt a sharp pressure in his abdomen, and he inhaled a single, shooting gasp, his hand drawing to his stomach. It pulled back bloody, and his whole body started to tremble as he looked down to see a long, curved blade sunk clean into his stomach._

_The sword had gone completely through him, skewering him to the floor like an insect on display. With a pained cry, he grasped the blade, cutting through both his palms as he wrenched it out, drawing forth another surge of blood._

_His vision swam as he was slammed backwards, hot, sticky blood drenching his hair as his head struck the floor. The monster had him pinned, its touch blistering, burning his skin as its fingers curled around him._

_Izuku screamed again, fighting with every bit of strength he had. He twisted and turned, kicking his legs wildly, desperate to get free. It felt like the monster was yanking something out of him, tearing him apart, ripping his very soul in half-_

_He couldn’t fight it. His hands were pinned on either side of his head, the monster’s grip enormously strong, holding him in place as he struggled._

_“Izuku!”_

_He kept struggling, tears running down his face. No, no, no, no, no. He couldn’t let it happen- lives were depending on him-_

_“Dammit, Izuku, open your eyes!”_

_He was trembling uncontrollably, his head reeling. There was blood everywhere, fire descending upon him, burning him alive. He kept kicking, head shaking in denial. No, he wouldn’t open his eyes. Couldn’t face it-_

_“Wake up, Izuku, **fuck-** ”_

_There was a note of worry in that statement that had him pausing. Heart pounding, Izuku cracked his eyes open._

The first thing he saw were two wine red eyes staring down at him, and another pang of fear went through his heart. In the next instant, he calmed. These eyes were different. Completely different. The red eyes from the monster held hatred in them, deep seated loathing. These didn’t.

The world was suddenly quiet, the air clean. No fire. No smoke. The only sound to be heard was his own breathing, broken and ragged. He stared in confusion at the familiar face above him, chest heaving.

“Katsuki?” Izuku croaked. He winced. His throat felt raw, like he had swallowed shards of glass.

“Do you know where you are?” 

Heart still pounding, Izuku swallowed thickly, cringing through his dry mouth. “Cairo?” Things started coming back slowly, his room starting to focus. “In my room…” He blinked rapidly, staring up at Bakugou’s face. “In bed.”

Oh, Gods.

His hands were pinned on either side of his head, Bakugou tented over top of him, the covers tangled between them. The man was completely shirtless, and Izuku’s breath hitched as his eyes traced his incredibly defined bare chest. Understanding started to prickle in his cheeks as his eyes widened, and he quickly shot his gaze back up to the soldier’s face. 

Bakugou’s brows were drawn together, his face severe. There was a trace of concern that flickered across his features, but it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by a solid frown. “You had a nightmare.”

“Yeah.” Izuku said lamely. His heart was still pumping, but now for an entirely different reason. He wriggled his wrists, Bakugou’s steel grip not budging. He looked up at him pleadingly. “I...Need water.” He managed. He needed to get up. Move. Being underneath Bakugou was doing all kinds of things to his stomach, and his heart rate refused to slow.

There was a beat of silence, Bakugou’s eyes narrowing like he expected the scholar suddenly fall back asleep and start dreaming again, before he finally let up, drawing back on his knees.

Izuku scooted back against the headboard, pulling himself out from underneath Bakugou, extracting himself from the tangle of sheets. He did his best not to let his gaze draw back to the ripped abdomen just a couple feet away from him, instead focusing on the room as warmth beat against his skin.

It looked to be early morning, the sun just barely beginning to dawn over the outside buildings. There was just enough illumination to maneuver. He noted that his room door was ajar, and he wondered if he had woken Bakugou, feeling slightly guilty at the idea.

He suppressed a small groan as he moved. His whole body felt spent, like he had just run a marathon instead of sleeping. His limbs were still shaking as he slowly got off the bed, taking care not to brush against Bakugou’s looming, bare figure as he headed for the sink in the early light. 

He glanced up at the mirror, noting his red, puffy eyes before splashing himself with cold water, running a trace of it behind his neck. It didn’t help the raging blush across his cheeks, but he felt better. He palmed a handful, drinking to soothe his ragged throat. 

Izuku glanced over his shoulder to see Bakugou had followed him, his arms crossed, hip leaned lazily against the doorjamb, jaw rigged and face unreadable. His trousers were set low across his hips and Izuku fought to keep from staring.

“I’ve changed my mind.” Izuku said, turning to face him. He took care to look only at his eyes. “I don’t want you to teach me Arabic.”

Bakugou lifted a brow.

“I want you to teach me how to fight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BNHA Season 3 Episode 1
> 
> AKA an episode of "Free!"
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MDnP0RAtV7Q


	17. Tea Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Stark-
> 
> I'm feeling fantastic today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IIIIIIMMMMMMM AAAAAALLLLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVVVVVVVEEEEEEEEE
> 
>  [TEMPORARY HIATUS]
> 
> As of 9/16/2018, this work is still on hiatus
> 
> I haven't forgotten! 
> 
> -

Izuku’s brother was right in the regard that daylight seemed to chase away unwanted feelings. It felt undoubtedly good to be walking around Cairo again, the early morning bustle of the streets helping clear his mind from both his nightmare and his mortification. 

The only downside was that he found himself pulling at his high button collar a little more than he used to, as the air started to gradually heat.

It was expected for a professor to dress like a proper gentleman, but he was starting to miss the soft, breezy black fabric of his Bedouin attire. It was far more suited to the environment, and undeniably more comfortable than his vest.

He tugged at his collar again, his fingers still feeling weak. He fought to keep the slight tremor out of his hands, knowing Bakugou was watching him, scrutinizing every movement. 

“You feeling ok, Izuku? You look… shaken.” Kirishima ventured. 

Izuku glanced over at him, taking in his slightly haggard appearance. He had stayed up late with the Americans, by some feat of willpower, that much was evident. “I’m fine.” He dismissed, smiling faintly. “I’m just processing as I go, that’s all. It’s hard not to be a little jarred after everything, wouldn’t you think?” It was a vague deflection, but hopefully it would be enough. He made a direct point not to mention the wicked nightmare he had earlier in the morning. Gods, how would he ever be able to explain that?

“You’ll let me know if you need a moment, right?” Kirishima pressed, his brows drawing together. “We can sit down somewhere if you’re tired.”

“You’re the one who looks tired.” Izuku countered, managing a small grin.You didn’t need a keen eye to see the dark tint underneath his brother’s eyes, though he’d wager he looked much the same.

Bakugou’s shoulder bumped into his, and he looked up to see that the blonde’s gaze was scanning the light morning crowd, his shoulders drawn back in a casual alertness. As though he could tell Izuku was looking up at him, his red gaze glanced down to meet him.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Izuku said quickly, turning his attention back to the road.

He felt the soldier huff beside him, his eyes drifting back towards the crowd, vacantly assessing.

When Izuku dared to lift his head again, he saw Kirishima’s face beaming from across Bakugou’s chest. He nearly asked an explanation for his brother’s apparent glee, but he caught himself before the question left his mouth.

No. Oh no. That’s not what it was. Izuku shook his head, careful to make the movement subtle so as not to draw Bakugou’s attention.

Kirishima nodded, his smile growing wider as he waggled his eyebrows teasingly.

He shook his head with a little more vigor, fighting the traitorous red flush threatening to creep across his cheeks. He knew what his brother was accusing him off, and that most certainly was not the case.

He didn’t… He didn’t... _like_ Katsuki. Right?

Indignant, he shot his gaze forward, refusing to give his brother the satisfaction of seeing his face grow as red as a tomato. Yes, he supposed, it was true that he was starting to enjoy Katsuki’s company, and arguably he looked forward to it as well; but that was something expected of most well functioning expedition groups, wasn’t it?

And the flutter in his stomach when Katsuki turned to look at him, the heat that twisted in his abdomen whenever he was pinned by those wine red eyes…

Izuku inhaled sharply, his steps picking up in pace. Gods help him.

Like they were answering his plea, a wave of relief rolled through his chest as the Cairo museum came into view. Never had he been so happy to see it, the only time even remotely comparable being the first time he had arrived in Cairo.

It was the perfect excuse to keep his eyes pinned forward, the familiar, well crafted stone walls and columns the perfect distraction. The lawn was manicured and green, and it was the first natural hint of the color Izuku had seen in over a week, the small decorative trees bordering it disenchanting and sparse but no less uplifting.

But despite the time, he was a little surprised to see that there was no crowd garnered around the entrance, a telltale indication that the museum had been closed for the day. Highly unusual. It happened every now and again, yes, but he wouldn’t think that it would close so closely after the last. 

“Looks empty.” Bakugou commented. “Isn’t this thing usually filled to the brim with book snobs?”

Izuku cast him a withering expression, maintaining steady eye contact to see if he would retract that statement. 

He didn’t.

“It usually is.” Kirishima chimed in. “Kinda weird to see it empty.” It was then his turn to be on the receiving end of Izuku’s insulted glare, and he quickly backpedaled. “Not including you, of course, my dear brother. You’re most certainly not a book snob.”

“I’m relieved you both think so highly of me.” Izuku said dryly. 

They had nearly reached the entrance by now, and he felt a flare of worry. He didn’t have the museum keys on him if the doors had been locked, and Aizawa was not likely to hear the buzzer in the back entrance if he was in his office. 

The worry was quickly replaced with hope when he saw a wayward attendant slipping past one of the side doors as he exited, and Izuku hurriedly ran to wave him down, going so far as to cut across the lawn, skirting past the small, infrequent rows of desert acclimated shrubs.

“Brat-” Bakugou shot after him, “Don’t run that far ahead of me!”

Izuku ignored him, giving the attendant a winning smile when he noticed him, jogging to a slow stop. “Ah, excuse me. Would you know if Professor Aizawa is in?” 

The attendant looked tired, and he sighed, his voice monotone as he recited his response, like he had been repeating it all day. “If you want to see the Professor you’ll need to make an appointment through-” The attendant clipped the keys to his belt, finally turning to face him properly. His expression immediately changed, his eyebrows lifting in surprise.“Oh, Mr. Midoriya-!” With a small, guilty flourish, he tipped his hat, his eyes wide.“Sorry, I didn’t realize it was you.” 

Izuku felt Bakugou’s shadow drift over him, and the attendant’s face turned baffled as he continued to stammer. “I, that is… We haven’t heard from you in over a week. Not since you destroyed the library.” He laughed weakly. “We’re still finding papers underneath some of the furniture.”

Izuku ignored the questioning look Bakugou gave him regarding the library. “Yes, I’ve... been away. I need to see the Professor as soon as possible.”

The attendant idled a second, looking speculatively between him and Bakugou. No doubt pondering the circumstances surrounding them. When he finally turned back towards him, his tone turned remorseful. “I’m very sorry to tell you, but the Professor has gone on extended leave.”

“What?” Izuku exclaimed, flabbergasted, “Extended leave? Why would he do that?” 

“Well-” The attendant said, like the answer should be obvious. “To look for you, of course.” 

“Me?” Izuku echoed, completely shocked. Why would he do that? The Cairo curator, a highly respected and well known scholar and figure, who had shown little more than total indifference towards his supposed comings and goings thus far, suddenly closing down the entire museum to find him?

Kirishima laughed, patting him on the shoulder. “I told ya that scruffy bastard cared, didn’t I?”

Cared? Izuku was short circuiting. Aizawa cared? He held great respect for his father, yes, but this was significantly more personal. He had to take a moment to collect himself before he could ask his next question. “Did he say where he was going?”

“No, I’m afraid not-” The attendant said thoughtfully. He unlatched the keys from his belt, motioning to the doors. “Though you can check his office, if you’d like. To see if he… you know, left anything?” He jingled the keys suggestively.

“Yes, please.” Izuku said, taking the ring from his hand. He was still very taken aback, his eyes wide as he turned to his brother. “Kirishima, please, if you wouldn’t mind heading to his apartment, or even the post office-”

“I got it, Izuku, don’t worry. I’ll mail our father as well.”

Izuku let out a small sigh, giving him a thankful smile. “Thank you.” 

He watched his brother nod his head politely to the three of them before heading off in the apartment’s general direction, quickly becoming lost in the growing crowd, mumbling to himself about how he had no idea what the hell he was going to write.

“I could help you out.” The attendant chimed in hopefully. He cracked a small smile. “I’m no professor, but we could cover more ground if we worked together.”

“Oh, that’s thoughtful, but-” Izuku stammered, fidgeting the keys in his hand, “I believe I can manage it on my own. Actually-” Feeling a little guilty, Izuku nervously tapped his fingers against his lips as he turned to Bakugou. “This may get incredibly tedious. If you’d rather head down with Kirishima-”

But the soldier wasn’t facing him at all. No, Bakugou was rolling his shoulder back, staring down the attendant with a steady, intimidating glare. His voice was low. “Don’t think so. I’m staying.”

It didn’t take a genius to get the message, and the attendant cowered under Bakugou’s menacing scrutiny. Fighting the urge to roll his eyes at the ridiculousness of it, Izuku quickly interceded, weaving a steady arm through the soldier’s and pulling him away as he quickly thanked the attendant for his help. The overprotectiveness was getting out of hand.

The looping contact seemed to appease Bakugou, and he followed Izuku’s insistent lead with little argument as he was forcibly herded through the entrance. 

“Honestly, he just wanted to help. That’s a bad habit of yours.” Izuku accused once the door was firmly shut behind them.

“What?”

“Intimidating people. Even over trivial things. You’d think everyone was out to do us harm.”

“Most people are.”

Izuku peered up at him, their footsteps echoing across the marble tiles. What kind of people had Bakugou known to make him say something like that with such conviction? Refutory words fell short of his wit, and Izuku was instead cast in a pensive silence.

The sudden depth of quiet was unsettling, and Bakugou felt a prickle of irritation simmer in his chest. Damn it all, he didn’t mean to upset him, but it was the truth. That was something the brat didn’t seem to get. He trusted too easily. Frustrated, he fumed internally, wracking his head to try and think of a way to wipe the irritating look of disappointment off Izuku’s face. “I didn’t like how he was looking at you.” He admitted curtly, rubbing the back of his neck.

That drew Izuku short, and he blinked at the ring of honesty in the soldier’s voice. “We’re no longer in the wilds of the western desert.” He reminded carefully, “And that museum attendant was a far cry from a scimitar wielding horseman.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Bakugou said, his voice quiet and rough.

At those words, the tone in the conversation suddenly shifted, and Izuku felt something squeeze in his chest. “Regardless...” He mumbled with uncertainty. Kirishima’s face popped into his head, his teasing grin cutting through him, and he repeated five words like a mantra in his head as his heart skipped a beat. _I’m not interested in Katsuki, I’m not interested in Katsuki-_ He cast his gaze across the hallway. “Have you ever been in the museum before?”

“Do I seriously have to answer that?”

“No.” Izuku conceded, “But you don’t seem to be completely oblivious to ancient Egypt either. All that knowledge has to come from somewhere.”

“I told you before, I know the treasure, not the history.” 

“But that’s not entirely true.” Izuku pressed, remembering their conversation on the cruise ship. He’d referred to the city by its lesser known name and had even questioned the physical make of the pharaoh’s books.

Bakugou drew them both to a stop, turning to fully face him, the height difference between them palpable as the morning sun shone through the glazed windows, hitting the soldier’s back and casting a slight shadow over Izuku’s figure. If his heart had been pounding before, it was nothing compared to the rapidfire beating now. Despite that, he wasn’t intimidated, the invasion of his space instead giving him an idea.

Sensing the shift, Bakugou’s eyes narrowed when he saw the expression on Izuku’s face turn thoughtful, his green eyes holding a keen spark, like he was hatching something up. Suspicious, he felt his nose pinch. “Why are you prying?” It came out less as a warning than a defensive question.

“I’m not.” Izuku responded airily, “I’m just thinking.”

“Do me a favor and _don’t._ ”

“I could teach you ancient Egyptian. How to read hieroglyphs.”

So that’s what this was about. Bakugou leaned closer, until Izuku was forced to step back into the side of the hallway, his fingers automatically gripping the glossed crown molding. “I already gave you my answer.” He most certainly had, and he didn’t remember leaving the topic open for fucking discussion.

Izuku sighed, recalling their dispute earlier that morning. It had taken less than a second for Bakugou to refuse his request to teach him how to fight, his voice stiff with finality. “I remember.” He said lamely, “But there’s really no reason why-”

“You remember?” Bakugou interrupted. “My _exact_ words?”

The soldier was leaning over him entirely at this point, his muscled arm bracketed above him, head dipped in close so Izuku had little choice but to look him in the eyes. A small breath, and then, “It was something along the lines of, ‘ _Absolutely fucking not._ ’” Izuku recalled.

A small smirk tugged at the corner of Bakugou’s lips, hearing the reluctance in the scholar’s voice as he repeated the curse word. “That’s absolutely fucking right. I’m not going to waste my time teaching you something that’ll just get you killed.” He saw Izuku open his mouth to protest, but he cut him off. “The _last_ thing you need is one more damn excuse to go running into stupid situations.”

Taking a breath for patience, Izuku dipped underneath Bakugou’s arm, freeing himself from the soldier’s makeshift cage. “Nevermind it, then.” He said dismissively, continuing down the hallway. He felt Bakugou’s eyes burn on the back of his head. “I just thought it’d be convenient for you to teach me, that’s all. I can most likely find someone else through the college.” It was a blatant lie. Izuku couldn’t think of one person that could fight like Bakugou did. But he let the bait sit.

“Who?” Bakugou demanded, quickly matching pace.

“Hm…” Izuku pretended to ponder. In reality, he couldn’t think of a single person, but he quickly brought up name. “Daryll Favroski would likely be willing.” Another lie. If any of the museum staff had heard him, they would have laughed. Daryll was one of the museum’s part time security guards. He was constantly falling asleep during his duties, and probably couldn’t take down a pair of bandits if he had the whole of the Egyptian army at his back. He was mostly kept around for his enlightening optimism and good spirits.

“Daryll.” Bakugou spat, “Sounds like a tea drinking loser. I could probably put him on his back in a single punch.”

“I drink tea.” Izuku reminded, “And it’s hard to say, though I expect I’d enjoy Mr. Favroski’s company better. He doesn’t have your temper.”

A rough hand closed around Izuku’s upper arm, and he looked up innocently to see Bakugou glaring down at him, a scowl tugging at the corners of his mouth. Gods fucking help him, Bakugou couldn’t deny the jealous heat that lanced through his chest. “A few moves. Self defense only.” His eyes narrowed when he saw the triumphant grin spreading across Izuku’s face. “ _Don’t smile_. You’ll use _only_ the moves I teach you.”

“Deal.” Izuku agreed readily. If he showed Bakugou that he was capable, maybe later on he could convince the soldier to teach him more offensive maneuvers. 

Feeling more than a little triumphant, Izuku couldn’t help _but_ smile, the rounded archways and marbled walls invoking a sense of familiarity and ease that loosened the worried knot in his chest. Rounding past mahogany set glass cases, he breathed a sigh of relief when they finally reached the library doors, finally feeling back in his element. The second he opened the doors though, his smile dropped.

“...I leave for a week and this is what it’s reduced to.” Izuku whimpered.

The library was in a state of total disarray, books stacked in jumbled piles over the majority of tables, no doubt mixed in an incomprehensible blend of skews and titles. Without him there to keep it under control, it quickly spiraled. With a heavy sigh, Izuku went to the closest table, quickly paging through a loose pile of articles, their corresponding paperclips halfheartedly clinging to only half of them.

Through muscle memory, Izuku started going through the bindings, stacking a few of them separately before abruptly stopping. Wait, no. He set them back down before pinching the bridge of his nose. That’s not what he was here for. Ugh, he hadn’t been in the library for more than a minute and he was already trying to work.

Ignoring the way Bakugou shadowed behind him, Izuku went to pass the righted shelves, pausing when he noticed the scuff marks on the lower rim of the molding. No doubt the damage had been caused when he had knocked them over. It had taken a team of men to set the shelves back to their former positions. 

Bakugou followed Izuku’s gaze. “What was that about destroying the library?” He noted the slight red that prickled across Izuku’s cheeks at the question. It was getting easier and easier to read him, and he shifted closer.

“I ah… accidentally knocked one of the shelves over.” Izuku had to take a steadying breath as Bakugou leaned over him, placing a lazy arm on one of the shelves beside him.

“These shelves?” He looked up at the huge bookshelves in disbelief, before running his attention down towards the rest of the library, noting how they were stacked. Almost all of the shelves had scuff marks on them. Right. “Just _one_ of them?”

“Well, they _all_ got knocked over, technically, just because of the way they’re arranged but-”

“How the fuck did you manage that?” He looked Izuku over, before turning back to the several hundred pound shelves.

“I was careless with the ladder, lost my balance-” He halted when he saw the expression on the soldier’s face. “We’re getting sidetracked.” He dismissed. He skirted past Bakugou’s figure, inhaling his familiar scent as he went out of impulse. It was quickly becoming a comforting smell, the sharp musk of gunpowder barely diluting even after Bakugou had showered. “Let’s check the office. Hopefully he at least left me a note…” Izuku trailed off, muttering to himself.

Fighting a smirk, Bakugou followed close behind, taking in the museum. He’d never actually gone inside himself, even though he’d been to Cairo many times. The artifacts themselves weren’t new, but the grandeur of the building itself was foreign. Each corner and sculpted archway were subtle reminders of the vast differences between his and Izuku’s worlds.

That’s what fucking got him, too. He looked down at the tangled mess of hair bobbing alongside him, eyes tracing the curls that framed Izuku’s freshly sunkissed face. The week out in the sun had really done him good, the scalding heat chasing away the last of the paleness that the London fog and musty libraries had undoubtedly drawn out of him. The oxford vest and shoes did little to downplay the wild spattering of freckles that had darkened across the scholar’s cheeks, the tint of sunburn countering the persona of stuffy book snob.

It looked good on him. 

A sharp rattling drew him from his thoughts, and he watched as Izuku hopelessly wrestled against a set of doors. “Locked.” He sighed. He ran through the string of keys on the ring. “Hopefully his key is on here, he’s always been so suspicious of people going through his office-” A small sound of triumph, followed by a jingle and the sharp click of a lock. Izuku let out a sigh of relief. 

Stepping in, it was almost as he last saw it. The only difference being the disorganized flurry of papers covering the entirety of Aizawa’s desk. The blinds were drawn, slivers of light spearing into the room through the small cracks between the shades. The room felt empty, and long vacated, heavy dust visibly floating past the faint streaks of light.

Izuku was extra careful as he made his way through the office, reaching for the closest oil lantern. It was clear that the professor had not been in for a while, and his hopes for a letter or some kind of note rapidly dwindled as he paged through the papers on the desk.

“It’s a mess in here.” Bakugou commented, fingering one of the artifacts resting on a nearby table. A small golden figure of some pharaoh, its face obscured by a flimsy brown ticket.

“I can only imagine what you’d think of my apartment.” Izuku mumbled idly. The statement came with a flash of mortification. They’d have to stop by his apartment after they left the museum so he could picks up a few of his things. Gods, the whole flat was covered in papers and books. Maybe he could convince Bakugou to wait outside? Unlikely, given how the man had a habit of butting into situations.

After a few tense minutes of sorting, Izuku had no choice but to accept the truth. Smacking the papers down with force, he exhaled noisily. “Nothing.” He finally declared, pinching the bridge of his nose. Exhaustion coarsed through him, and he sat down heavily on Aizawa’s office chair, cradling his head between his hand, the papers shuffling as he settled.

He felt Bakugou before he heard him. The steady heat that poured off of him, sinking into his muscles as he drew close, leaning over him like a pillar. He took in Izuku's ragged appearance, watched how his shoulder's sagged with inexplicable weight. “You didn’t get enough sleep.”

“None of us did.” Izuku countered, his voice muffled through his hand. And he likely wouldn’t be getting any more in the days to come. Not until Ocha, Iida, and the others were found. He inhaled deeply, taking a moment to center himself before he pushed up to stand, willing the bags under his eyes to be swept away as he rubbed them. “I think I need a drink.”

Bakugou smirked, crooked and sinful. “Now _that’s_ a fucking idea. But I’m not dragging your drunk ass back to the apartment building.”

“That won’t be an issue.” Izuku promised, a weary smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

 

~ _Ten minutes later_

 

“When you said get a drink…”

“I meant the British variety, yes.” Izuku grinned from around his teacup.

His grin was answered with a despondant scowl, Bakugou setting his own teacup back down into its saucer with a decidedly impolite amount of force, scooting the offending party as far away from him as the flimsy tea table allowed. The china clinked against the glass of the flower centerpiece, and the small noise was enough to draw the attention of the other upper class parties; gentlemen dressed in the typical British fashion, discussing their wordly matters over their hot, ‘exotic’ blends.

The tea cafe had been Izuku's best idea to date, he would adamantly defend.

Bakugou stuck out like a sore thumb, his street upbringing readable in every movement and posture, the guns holstered at his sides bespeaking his mercenary occupation with little question. 

This wasn’t revenge for Bakugou’s earlier tea drinker comment. Definitely not. Izuku hummed to himself, irrefutably pleased as he took another sip. In fact, this was one of his favorite places to go after his work shifts, the place quiet and demure enough to allow him to read without interruption, and the locale safe enough for him to stay until rather late in the day. 

You didn’t have to walk very far either, the museum richly bordered by a variety of English inspired tea shops and light cafes. After locking up the building behind them, they had only a block or two to walk before arriving, and Izuku couldn’t help but feel a little victorious when he saw the mild twinge of disgust on the soldier’s face when he saw the delicate arrangement of tables and chairs. A far cry from the heavy bar he had no doubt been expecting. 

A mustached man, (Henry, if Izuku could recall) had waved to him as they entered, balancing a flower painted teapot in his other hand, and the blonde’s gaze had turned borderline murderous.

Nevertheless, a part of him had hoped he could convert Bakugou to tea, but it was quickly becoming clear that he may have to ask Henry to brew a pot of coffee instead. Served black, if Izuku was asked to guess.

“How are your arms?” Izuku ventured, eager to break the silence. He remembered the night of the… incident, how they had looked red and irritated, like they had been burned. Similar to how he had felt, his veins boiling him from the inside out, his blood a liquid fire.

“Fine.” Bakugou answered flippantly, and his gaze shot down to Izuku’s hand, folded around his cup. “I need to take out those stitches.”

Izuku blinked, turning his palm back towards him. The skin was still healed, tan and healthy, without so much as a trace of red or pink to betray that he had been wounded to begin with. “Do you think…” He struggled to put it into words, “That the rapid healing had anything to do with…” The image of Hamunaptra, bathed in blood red light sent a crawling shiver down his spine.

“No idea.” With a casual air, Bakugou reached into his belt, pulling out a small knife as he reached over to grab Izuku by the wrist, the whole table nearly tipping over as Izuku yanked his arm back, almost managing to break his hold.

Mortified, Izuku’s eyes went wide. “ _Not here!_ ” He hissed through his teeth, turning his head to see if anyone was watching. By the Gods, pulling out a knife in a sophisticated space like it was the most normal thing in the world- “Wait until we’re not in a restaurant, _please-_ ”

There was a long standoff between them as Bakugou regarded him with a narrow, irritated gaze. Izuku did his best to keep his face firm, hoping that the churning of his stomach wouldn’t betray his deep seated fear of having the stitches removed. Having them put in had already thoroughly traumatizing, and he was dreading their removal. 

Thankfully, he didn’t seem to give himself away, and Bakugou relented. “Fine.” He huffed, and he let go of Izuku, watching as the scholar drew back with a scolding expression.

Rubbing his wrist, Izuku snatched up his teacup, taking a hearty sip as he looked at Bakugou with a withered air as he resheathed the knife. “You know, sometimes I think you have more common sense than me, but then I’m almost immediately reminded otherwise.”

Ignoring that, Bakugou’s scowl deepened, and he leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking in a shrill warning as he balanced it with one foot, not giving a second’s worth of attention to the scandalized stares from the other patrons. “That whole city was fucked. I don’t know jack about any curse or other nonsense, but it’s probably why everything went to shit.”

Izuku hummed thoughtfully. “Eloquently put. I wonder though, if it’s only the city itself. That book…” It had made his very blood sing, his whole body trembling at the mere sight of it. “It felt like it had an energy all on its own. And the city didn’t devolve into chaos until I read from it. Iida had said that the book was the key to unleashing the power entombed there, which implies the tome itself has power.”

“You’re adapting to this quickly.” Bakugou said, his gaze neutral.

“You don’t see a moving, talking mummy and walk away from it the same person.” Izuku said dryly, indulging in another sip. A part of him was still in denial, but the urgency of finding the others had cast his suspicions to the wind. He couldn’t imagine the conversation he would have with his father the next time he saw him.

“Regardless of where it came from, it’s the reason why my rifle is fucked.”

Izuku’s brows drew together. “What’s wrong with your rifle?”

Dipping the chair back into a normal sitting position, Bakugou snorted, like he could hardly believe the question. Reaching behind him, he drew out his rifle, dipping out of the strap and setting it dead center of the table with a comparatively loud clack. The china rattled from the sudden weight.

Izuku winced through his sip of tea, giving Bakugou a pleading glare. “Gods, Katsuki, not on the tea table, please. You seriously can’t just pull out weapons in public-”

“This is the rifle that you grabbed in the tomb, when I was shooting at the beetles.” Bakugou continued, ignoring him. There was a definite murmur of conversation surrounding them now, the other guests covering their mouths in polite shock.

“Scarabs.” Izuku corrected on impulse, ignoring the buzz garnering around them. The soldier’s eyes narrowed at the needless correction as he took a steadying breath, and Izuku had the good grace to look sheepish. “I’m sorry, continue.” 

“Look at it closer.”

Izuku did, his eyes running along the weapon, catching along the upper nozzle. “Oh-” He set his teacup down, casting Bakugou a permissible glance before running his hand down the gun’s barrel. “It’s… _crushed_. How did-?” 

“ _You_ crushed it.”

Izuku scoffed, an airy chuckle lifting his smile before he saw Bakugou’s serious demeanor. The smile wavered as he shook his head. “No human is capable of doing something like that, let alone me.” He argued, tapping his fingers along the indents. It was solid metal, after all. 

Bakugou maintained an air of silence, watching as Izuku’s fingers curled around the imprint of the hand, his own grip matching the indentions perfectly. For a moment Izuku said nothing, processing the bolt of shock that accompanied the realization, but then he looked up, eyes troubled.

“I haven’t been able to do anything like this since-”

“Like I said.” Bakugou repeated, “That whole city was fucked.”

“I haven’t felt entirely the same since that night.” Izuku said, his mind whirring. “There’s no way we can know if this will have a lasting effect on us or not; but besides that-” A terrible thought crossed his mind, and his eyes went wide. “The curse on the city, regarding the ten plagues of Egypt, you don’t think that will actually come to _pass-?_

“I think that’s a stretch.” Bakugou waved, reclaiming the rifle from Izuku’s grip. The city was all sorts of wacky, Bakugou reasoned, but there was no way the craziness would follow them back to the real world. He slung the useless weapon back over his shoulder, standing up abruptly. “I think we’ve had enough tea.” He added, glaring at the small audience they had gathered.

“Right.” Izuku said, setting his cup back down. He left a bill on the table, ducking underneath Bakugou’s shoulder as they quickly exited, leaving the flurry of people in the cafe to intensify their idle comments and mutterings.

The morning crowd had quickly thickened, and Izuku automatically turned to go towards the post office, wanting to put off their trip to his apartment as long as possible. A strong hand on his shoulder stopped him, and he met Bakugou’s steady red gaze.

“Where are you going?”

“The post office, to perhaps catch Kirishima-”

A barely measurable beat, and then, “We’re going my way.” Bakugou said, his words nothing short of a command.

Izuku’s brows lifted. “ _Your_ way?”

The soldier nodded curtly, pivoting them in a totally different direction. A little confused, but no less trusting, Izuku followed him with a slightly puzzled expression, trailing in the soldier’s shadow as they cut through alleyways and narrow streets.

The farther they went, the less crowded it got, and Izuku started to wonder if Bakugou was just trying to avoid the city sprawl, taking them through the less populated parts of the city so that they could travel unimpeded. Once again he was impressed by how well Bakugou knew the streets; this far in Izuku honestly had no idea which one of the main roads they were nearest to, much less how to find any of them.

After a while, Bakugou slowed to a stop, and Izuku’s confusion multiplied as he took in the bare, short buildings around them. “Don’t tell me you got us lost.” He laughed, stepping ahead of him. The street they were on was narrow, the houses and shops close together and remarkably empty, the only sign of life the occasional cluck of hens, the majority of everything cast in light shadow.

There wasn’t a soul in sight.

“I don’t suppose you could retrace our steps-” Izuku wondered aloud, turning to face him.

Except Bakugou wasn’t there.

Eyes widening, Izuku spun in a small circle, eyes scanning every visible part of the immediate area. Not a sign, not a single sound to give him any hint or clue as to where the soldier had gone. The fear of being lost in the middle of Cairo completely alone hit his chest with a startling ferocity, but it was quickly followed by denial. There was absolutely no way Bakugou would ditch him in the middle of Cairo-

It happened so fast he didn’t have time to react.

From behind, Izuku felt something hard and _impossibly_ strong loop around his waist, jacketing his arms to his sides and yanking him down a side alleyway.

Panic immediately shut out every other thought, and Izuku inhaled his mouth to shout, only to have another hand slam over his mouth, silencing him. Flashbacks of Hamunaptra came flooding back to his memory, and he struggled wildly, entirely in vain, for several terrifying seconds. He stopped fighting only when he heard a familiar voice hiss from beside his head.

“You want me to teach you self defense? Lesson number one, Izuku. You wandered into a vacant part of town, have no idea where you are, and are completely alone.”

Bakugou’s breath was hot against his ear, mouth brushing across his hair, and Izuku barely suppressed a shiver as he was pressed against the soldier’s chest, his hold crushingly tight as he pulled him deeper into the alley.

“I’m kidnapping you. Now what the hell are you going to do about it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A buddy of mine saw Daryll Favroski take his shirt of in the shower, and he said that Daryll Favroski had an eight-pack
> 
> He said that Daryll Favroski was _shredded_


End file.
